Culmination
by Aenigmatic
Summary: A revised version of 'To Complete the Story'. [Complete] Wild AU after S5's First Date - Niles's sudden disappearane, Daphne's change of heart. How do they pick up pieces 2 years later?
1. Culmination Part 1

**Culmination  
PART I **

by Aenigmatic ( vesania@gmx.net ) 

_**Author's Note: **_

I have nothing to do with Grub Street productions nor the sitcom 'Frasier'. I have no money either should anyone decide to sue. The first part of the story takes place during the first date Niles and Daphne had in Season 5, which later spins off into very AU. Happy readin'! The changes in perspectives are reflected by ***. Feedback is highly appreciated and will be responded to! 

Was originally known as 'To Complete the Story', put up on Eunice's site quite a while ago, but hey, 'tis revised. 

********** DINNER CONVERSATION: THE AFTERMATH OF PHYLLIS 

"For two personalities to meet is like mixing two chemical substances: if there is any combination at all, both are transformed." Carl Jung, Problems of Modern Psychotherapy 

Her question was breathtaking. It's a question that had amazed me long before I reached my teens, a question that still continues to amaze me and I suspect, will probably never cease to amaze me to death and beyond. Why? It's a simple question, really, with an impact large enough to knock me off my feet, scramble my brains and possibly find another opportunity to moon this present president. Now, that is if I work up the courage to – 

"Dr Crane, do you believe in love? Do you truly truly believe?" 

She repeated the question slowly but surely, her voice containing all that she held true, the English drawl more obvious to my ears than any other time, inquiring into my eyes that must have surely balanced my feelings as would a delicate plastic with a large chunk of water that was my emotions. 

I am talking balderdash again. A mental slap on the forehead should do the trick. 

I suspect that if I turned and looked into the nearest mirror, I would have seen a Niles Crane wearing his most typical expression, open-mouthed, wide-eyed and chest rising and falling rapidly as I got ready to hyperventilate. I think she knew this expression well too after knowing me for five years, treating this expression with the same love and warmth she gave everything, letting a small smile shaping her lips. Or was she actually readying herself to stand, poised to dash into the kitchen in search of a small paper bag to make me… 

Strange, how detached I feel or rather, my mind feels during this time. But back to the situation at hand… 

Was that a real question? As in 'real' real, Daphne asking me that? 

Or had she simply too much to drink? Or did I have too much too drink? The perspective tilted as surely as my wine glass nearly did, just as my world turns each time she looks at me. 

With an inward shake of my head to clear my fantastical drifting, I chided both my heart and my mouth for simultaneously going on strike against me, as I fumbled for words to which I would normally have no problem answering should anyone else have shot me that question. 

_Oh Daphne, would I not have stayed married for so long to Maris if I did not believe in love? You see, I did think I loved her, with the kind of love that only a young graduate then understood…Then again, no one stands at the altar dreaming of a divorce years down the road as the bride teeters unknowingly down the aisle. _

It did pain me to reply, not because the goddess asked me a question I couldn't answer without giving myself away, but because I tended to mourn lost years and dreams. My innocent questioner did not know she herself moulds my answer. She stared at me attentively, as if the answer was a life-and-death one, instead of what it was meant to be –mere frivolity. 

The coward's way out is easy, I frantically thought. Simply end the dinner here and cook up the excuse of being tired with all the excitement before — 

"Dr Crane, are you alright?" Her eyes bore concern now as it broke through the frantic haze. Was that a tad bit of sympathy I saw flash through her eyes? Something told me she was already accustomed to my quirks and whims; any rebuke of my behaviour (or Frasier's or dad's for that matter) would only be reflected in her longsuffering sighs at not being able to get all of us married and out of the apartment. Yes, that English goddess has certainly managed us superbly. 

"Uh…I'm sorry Daphne. Yes, I am." My mouth has finally come under some semblance of discipline. She was silent for a long moment, contemplating things I am weary of analysing using the professional shrink's mind. 

"As for your question…" 

I took a deep breath, got ready to use my best fairy-tale voice reserved for Alice's journey into slumberland and proceeded to tell her one of the greatest love stories I've ever known. 

********** 

THE TURN OF THE SCREW 

We decided to trade a story each. Never mind if we've both heard them before. He insisted on the story of Turandot , the very first opera his mother had brought him and Frasier to. It had remained in his memory fresh years afterwards and his personal favourite. I was also familiar with this story, the first opera that captured my heart the moment it opened its spectacular folds in London and the last opera I saw there too as a going away present by my Michael before I left for America. 

_"Just before the rise of the moon, the crowd gathered at the Forbidden City, jostling and pushy, as they awaited the latest execution of the Prince of Persia. They were a boiling sea of pity, anger and excitement as they watched a man passing his way to the execution platform. You see, Daphne, Emperor Altoum ruled in legendary times. His kingdom was mythical and his daughter the sole cause of worry upon his heart…" _

He merely needed the cue of the conductor's baton, the seemingly eternal uplift of the arms before the orchestra inhaled and began the epic with the first exhalation of chords! As if he heard me! Dr Crane had never seemed so animated, his arms moving with the undulations of his words. Indeed, you never did get forearms merely conducting your stereo… 

I've never quite heard it the way he told it and it was nothing short of mesmerising. Emotions flickered across his face, rising and falling in his soulful eyes capturing the deepest of passions known to the primal human psyche that I couldn't help but be embarrassed as his soul was inexorably drawn out, seeing something which I instinctively shy away from. With an incredible amount of ardour that belied his nature –or maybe I'd been blind to it throughout; his voice held a soothing lilt I would imagine of soothsayers of old had— get a grip, Daphne girl , I reminded myself sharply. He probably developed that voice from hours and hours of therapy for patients with anxiety disorders and. I've got to stop thinking like a bloody psychiatrist! 

"Daphne, have you lost me there?" 

Oh dear, he noticed. 

His voice promptly lost its mythical quality (so much for my rolling imagination) and brought me down with the thump of reality. Some kind of reality it is though, I mumbled to myself, surrounded by candles, intimately coshed up with this good friend of mine who wasn't ready for his first date since his divorce with an old harpy. Yes, I was having trouble concentrating. That's the least I can do, which is to admit it to myself first. 

"Uh, no…no, I was just recalling…the first time I saw this in London." I gave him a weak smile and bade him continue. 

Dr Crane easily lapsed into the story again and I had absolutely no difficulty being drawn into it again and I thought I did a phenomenal work of ignoring the overtime work of my mind. And if I tried repeating this to myself a few more times, maybe I'll be able to convince myself as well. My brain and ears worked dually but differently at this and promptly returned me to my ridiculous imaginings that I was indeed hearing the voice of that belonged to storytellers of classic myths and legends. 

_"Princess Turandot was beautiful, manipulative and evil. The blood of many royal suitors who have asked for her hand, none of which succeeded before, stained her reign. Anyone asking for her hand must answer three riddles, failing which, must face his sad fate at the rise of the moon." _

"The old vanquished King of Tartar, Timur and his slave girl Liu were among the crowd, when old Timur fell. Hearing Liu's cry for help a dashing young prince Calaf emerged to help his aged father who then told him that Liu was utterly in love with him, for Calaf had smiled upon her once. Shouts grew in intensity around them. The crowd was pleading for mercy upon the Prince of Persia. Calaf, as he stood up, felt a flash of rage run through him as he contemplated the wicked actions of the Princess. Turandot appears and against his will, Calaf finds himself smitten with her beauty and vows to win her hand despite pleas from Timur, Liu and Turandot's ministers Ping, Pang and Pong. He strikes the gong, letting its resonance fill the air, announcing the arrival of yet another reckless suitor seemingly asking for a horrible death." 

_"Even the Emperor Altoum pleaded for Calaf to give up his quest but he steadfastly refused, watching Turandot enter the palace grounds. 'I cannot save you if you are not able to answer the riddles,' cried a despairing Altoum. 'Red shall be the colour of her heart when she accepts my love,' was Calaf's reply. Turandot, with a great flourish, started telling the story of her ancestor, who was raped and brutally killed by a conquering prince and in revenge, no man shall possess her." _

_"Turandot asked the first of her riddles. 'What is born each night and dies each dawn?' 'Hope,' Calàf answers correctly. She carries on, assured and confident. 'What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire? 'Blood,' Calaf replies, meeting her eyes. A moment's pause. Turandot is visibly shaken and poses her last question with an edge of defiance. 'What is like ice but burns?' 'Turandot!' came Calaf's triumphant cry as Turandot staggers to her father and begs him with all her heart not to marry her to this mysterious man who answered all her riddles correctly." _

"'Listen to me, Turandot! I offer you a riddle of my own. If you find out my name before dawn, my life is for you to take. If you don't, then I claim sweet victory and make you mine.' Calaf tells her." 

_"'None shall sleep for death awaits you should you not know his name!' Calaf hears the desperate proclamations of the court ministers under Turandot's orders. He muses on his impending victory while hearing the crowd shouting that he would die before knowing Turandot's love, until soldiers drag in Timur and Liu who were seen in his company before. Sickened with horror, Calaf tries to convince them that neither knows his name." _

He talked on effortlessly, words rolling out of his mouth like liquid and it wasn't long before I lost myself in his expressions rather than the story itself, intently watching every tilt of his chin, how the firelight played with his hair and how he said every nuance. For a split second I wondered how things might have turned out should he have been a lover instead of a good friend. 

What an appropriate subject, Daphne, right on. The tale of love in _Turandot_. 

Love. 

Love-r. 

Just what was I thinking? 

Dr Crane finished his story with a flourish a few minutes later and I was torn between giving him a standing ovation for such a magnificent performance and crying tears of sweet release. He smiled and clinked glasses with me. 

"There you have your answer, Daphne. To love." 

My answer? Oh yes, the one I asked earlier on, whether he believed in love. 

Come to think of it, he never did quite answer me, just deflected the question with a story. To push the issue, or not to push. There wasn't the time – he had his glass held out and I needed to react. 

"To love and friends, while the flowers bloom." I echoed rather unsteadily. 

I took a deep breath and started on my own story. _Wuthering Heights_. Dr Crane was so well read that he did not mind me re-telling something he already knew. I've never known him to be such a gifted storyteller. Soothsayers of old, druids that command the weather at the slightest movement of their lips –and I want to stay in his arms forever, listening to his magical voice recreate the magic of the old I've so missed. 

Oh that voice. That voice, that voice. 

I tried a cheap imitation of his captivating voice and did my best to get into fairy-tale telling mode, but it turned out somewhat different and disappointing. Grammy Moon had it. Mother, well, she thinks she has it. Maybe it had to do with genes; maybe it skips a generation… 

Why do I suddenly remember them now? Oh for Heaven's sake! Daphne Moon, I mentally poked myself (not that it hurt you know, mental states have more than a bruising impact on one's physical state –right, I'm the one to talk), I'm not far from being equally daft as Grammy Moon. No such luck, I reminded myself sharply and went through my story as best as I could. Granted, it was the best session I've ever given though. 

"Is that what you think of love, Daphne?" His voice was inquiringly soft and strangely maddeningly so because in that moment it seemed that all I ever wanted was him; I wanted to drag him into my arms and tell me that he needs only me to make him complete, the way Heathcliff cannot live without Catherine, his soul. 

_What was I thinking? _Something told me to divert his question and replace it with the topic of my childhood. It was after all, climbing onto safe ground. After all, the Crane boys always learned something new when it came to that. Dr Crane and Mr Crane always got quizzical looks each time I let out a snippet or two about my family. Mostly, silence follows after I regale them with several anecdotes, a sign that they've grown wiser over the years. 

"Grammy Moon used to bring me to the heathen moors nearly every fortnight when I was little. Before starting her stories she made sure my ears rang first with the solemn announcement that we were standing on sacred ground. British history at its finest and how I am supposed to be proud of it. Her voice would lower to no more than a whisper as she conspiratorially told me our ancestors were none other than the mystic Celts. 

"Grammy was still spry then of course, and she would tell me endless stories, stories that were spurred and inspired by the unconstrained wildness of the landscape. Legends of these near-white-haired and blue skinned people, their legendary fierceness coupled with their unmistakable reverence for the earth's elements." 

I could see that he was imagining it as well. Transfixed and awed, there was a childlike wonder that had materialised on his face as I spoke. Clearly legends were something he thrived on as a young boy. 

Whoa, blimey. I plunged ahead recklessly. 

"I was 12, and mind you, not that stupid. Or rather, cynical even at that early age because legends, for me, stayed where they were, in the past. What only mattered to me were the present and the future. The life that we build for ourselves. I let Grammy talk, nodding and smiling politely at her while I stared out, sometimes sightlessly into the harsh and rugged terrain as she spun her tales. My imagination was given free rein as the moors and its moody terrain spun around, shook and rolled my imagination topsy-turvy. Then we would all go home and I would forget all of it completely until we next visited." I stood up hurriedly feeling that urge to leave, disregarding the abruptness of my movement that suddenly tipped the chair over. He stood hurriedly, with more than a twinge of alarm, I noticed slyly. 

"I've really had too much to drink tonight. Thank you for having me around, Dr Crane." I whooshed out, righting the very expensive chair that made more than a dent in his equally expensive carpeting, my handbag falling over my shoulder and hair going out place. To my credit, I felt like Roz whenever she meets an attractive bloke. Dr Crane, on the other hand had a strange look on his face, not quite believing the dent in his carpet probably. 

"Well, it is late and isn't there –" 

"Do you think –" 

The jumble of voices made me laugh. I motioned for him to continue. 

He took a step in the direction of the door, only to do a funny 180 degrees turnaround with his feet and stared at me with liquid eyes. I had the feeling he was pooling courage from all over to ask for something momentous. 

"Please don't go yet, Daphne. I'd love more of your company. Please, let me make you some coffee." He looked up with the right mixture of apprehension and hope that I couldn't resist such an offer. 

Now, was that a difficult question or what? Or was the temperature in the room rising already? I was starting to feel beads of perspiration sneaking up my back and the memory of the night I left Dr Crane's for The Montana conveniently popped itself back into my woozy head. It seemed so natural to walk over to his fainting couch and lay across the couch, the very position I knew I had positioned myself in that night so long ago. 

_Just for tonight. And then it will be no more. _

I can't even kid my unconscious! I'm doing this with the full consciousness that we may go down a road later with many things more to regret. The unexplainable and prodding question however, is why I wanted this so much. 

He came out with 2 cups of fine Costa Rican coffee (I was relieved to find only plain black coffee inside and nothing more fanciful for once) and set them carefully down on his table. And there was cream, milk, sugar, an assortment of condiments – was that nutmeg?! – that surely had graced royalty's breakfast menu – all of it, just for coffee! Strange how starkly detailed his furniture looked at that moment; I seemed to notice the tiniest things I never noticed before –the wax dripping down in rivulets down the thick white candles, the flames merging into a golden glow and in the centre of it all a knight who believes in love…holding out a cup of coffee towards me, a bewildered expression on his face once more. Dr Crane came into focus once again and I took the cup hastily, muttering an apology. If he never thought me on the verge of madness before, now seemed a good time to start. 

We sat in companionable silence for a while sipping at our cups, and in my reverie I realised he had put on old records of the 1920s. Finally it was he who broke the silence. 

"Thank you for the wonderful evening, Daphne. You made it turn out so right even though it took the wrong turn before." 

Thank me with a kiss. We have no professional distance between us, not now. 

I leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek but he turned towards me so abruptly and returned it with such passion that I knew I wasn't going anywhere. Not yet anyhow. Dear god, we kissed heedless of time, dousing the comfort of friendship, fanning the flames of trysting partners. Needless to say, we both gave in that night. That splendour and passion, nothing less than the magnificence of Turandot and the awesomeness of Wuthering Heights surpassed everything I thought I knew before, now written and marked on his bed sheets. 

I had to see him in the morning before I left, preparing breakfast for both of us, unlike heroines or heroes (blast them) in stories who fly away by dawn after spending the night. We talked, not a lot, but there was more shared sentiment between us than what we both actually realised. 

It was really time to go. He wished me goodbye, gave me a hug that I now interpreted as a back-to-confidants one and my feet, on auto-pilot, brought me back to Elliot Bay Towers. 

And there it was again. That sadness in those eyes that I picked out earlier from time to time which made me feel uncomfortable because I always got the distinct feeling that it was because of me. I tried not too hard to think about it as I drove back. 

********** 

THE AFTERMATH OF DAPHNE 

She surprised me by preparing breakfast; part of me expected her to take off into the night the moment we did the deed. Or should I revert to my old ways and say 'after we got lucky'? Suddenly everywhere reminded me of her –the fainting couch where we were, the nostalgic music, the candlelight and candles now exhausted, all the testimonies of what had gloriously transpired! The overwhelming sense of loss that struck me after she left was not so inexplicable after all. After all, she is Daphne. 

And I thought that I would attach a great deal more significance to this 'night of passion' – look, I have no mood to stamp down on clichés now – but right now, I'm content to see that my limbs move, that my mind is relatively sheathed, that no panic attacks have yet kicked in… 

And the house is one big mess. 

The dream is over, just as it began those hours ago. Just as I was about to indulge in a tad bit of self-pity, Frasier called. 

"Where is she, Niles?" He demanded without preamble. That beast that he can be sometimes. 

"Back at your place, Frasier. Or reaching there, I presume, in about 7minutes and 24 seconds. See you later, big brother." I tried to sound tired but there really wasn't a need to, because I really was. Drained, after she walked away. I could hear him sputtering still as I slowly put the phone back into its cradle, a half-smile on my face. 

Frasier, my dear brother, you really make me laugh sometimes without knowing to. 

It is life, back to normal, (I say normal with more than a touch of irony here) but it's back to a closer scrutiny to Wuthering Heights . Who the hell do I kid? I read it now with the layer of her voice coating each word. 

********** 

THE QUESTION OF DAFTNESS 

What have I done…what have WE done? 

I will not even try to put last night into words. All the superlatives aside, what do you call it when you end up in bed with your good friend? A sneaky change in relationship? A guilt trip down memory lane? Oh, put a sock in it, we agreed that we would treat it like nothing ever happened, but I know myself better than that. Distraction is best, I'd say for now as I turned my mind more idly to the morning traffic, which wasn't much more of a consolation. 

"WATCH YOUR BLEEDIN' ---!!!!" The punk looked scared enough to run the opposite direction after I yelled. Now was I daft or what? Oh, right, a new topic to cling onto for the moment until I felt safe enough to wander into sensitive territory. Daftness. 

Probably runs in the family, daftness I mean. Excuse me there, I have to be politically correct each time I speak about my family. You see, lineage and druidism has always been a particular issue and we can never get past these in the typical family argument when– 

"Can't you bloody drive?" I wound down my window and shouted at a cab driver. I swerved wildly to my left and accelerated –into a pedestrian who had the good sense to jump aside, thank his quick wit. This time, he yelled at me. My irritability-metre was incredibly high today; it surprisingly reared its ugly head after I left Dr Crane's. It's something that I did not bother questioning why and chose instead to let it out on these poor unsuspecting people. 

Did anyone think that road rage could be sometimes also therapeutic? 

With that troublesome cab driver out of the way, I felt comfortable enough to slip back into my pensive thoughts. 

Dad would talk to his fish before cooking them and apologised profusely because he needed to feed his hungry kids. He seemed to think our lives were terribly intertwined with nature, claiming that he woke up in the mornings imagining himself as a builder of pagan rings of stones. Mum always believed I chose to leave Manchester because of the secret reason of not being able to find myself husband of the druid line. You younger generation have no appreciation for your roots , she constantly reminded me, even during our monthly phone conversations at Dr Crane's. I can only sigh and shake my head at her sorrowfully. Maybe after seven years of living with the Crane boys, I can even find an alternative response to that. 

Ah…jeez. I still smell him on me, the clean, spicy, lingering aftershave and the fruity soap that he used… 

Bloody, what was my previous thought? Don't even get me started on me brothers. And there was dear Grammy Moon and her beloved birdbath. To her, birds were the messengers of life and song and their water in the bath could only be from the pagan gods that approved of their life-giving song. She would forbid me brothers from drinking from the birdbath after their filthy soccer games every weekend. Not like they cared though – 

The finger was poised over the doorbell – no. 

I tried to open the doors as discreetly and quietly as possible, hoping Dr Crane and Mr Crane weren't up yet. That's just like hoping for Simon to get deported to the farthest reaches in Africa. It'll never happen. No such luck. Mr Crane and Dr Crane were seated at the table with identical cups of coffee in their hands. Dr Crane knowingly lifted an eyebrow at me but said nothing. I decided there and then that I could only look to Eddie for sympathy. 

"Breakfast anyone?" I forced a wide smile. They shook their heads mutely and exchanged a glance pregnant with implications. No, I already reiterated to myself that I wasn't going there at all. I decided to treat myself to a long bubble bath. Back to my thoughts on comfortable ground. 

Don't get me wrong, I love the moors. Many people get the impression I'm completely 'metropolitanised' after living in Manchester and then in Seattle. These places are home to me, Seattle even more so now, but how can Seattle or Manchester, whose bosoms buzz with non-stop traffic, overflow with the resonant yells of fruit sellers and bloody cab drivers compare to the wildness Grammy Moon put in my heart when she went heathen that summer all those years ago? In fact thinking of them now gives me a sharp pang of longing for them that I was tempted to ask the elder Dr Crane for a week off so I can simply fly back to England and run free in the moors. 

Grammy Moon soon got too ill to walk. Spending hours with her trying to tend to her arthritic legs gave me more than ample training at physical therapy. It was my greatest delight to tell her stories that I used to read late at night. Wuthering Heights, especially, something to bring back the flavours of the moors to Grammy, a book that I fervently hoped would rekindle even the smallest light of joy to her. I never understood the book's metaphysical nature, though. In my childish heart, it could only be love, lost and somewhat found, spanning 2 generations. To my horror, Grammy cried when I read the first half of the book to her. 

I had never seen tears roll so freely. The name of love is hard to find , she said. Paying no attention then to what she muttered, I hurried about fixing her a soothing cup of lemon tea, hoping it would put her back to sleep. It worked, for a while. And I left it as that. 

And there it was again. Love. 


	2. Culmination Part 2

**Culmination  
Part II **

by Aenigmatic ( vesania@gmx.net ) 

_Author's Note: I have nothing to do with Grub Street productions nor the sitcom 'Frasier'. I have no money either should anyone decide to sue. The second part takes place after an interval of 2 years and I can't go on without spilling a lot more things. So you'll have to read on! You may just find a few heartless twists of plots and several pieces of dialogue used in actual episodes though. Some quotes are from Wuthering Heights . The changes in perspectives are reflected by ***. Feedback/Reviews: highly appreciated!_

********** 

THE ADVENTURES OF CRANE THE ELDER 

_"A woman's always younger than a man of equal years." _Elizabeth Barrett Browning, _Aurora Leigh _

"Now, Marie. Growing old together can really be a lovely experience. Put up your feet, take long strolls, cook a meal together and then set up a candlelight dinner. With the children out of the way, the twilight years will be more than exciting if you allow it to." I smiled to myself, pleased with the advice I gave, hitting the button on the control with a satisfying 'thud'. 

"Dr Frasier Crane will return after the commercial." 

Satisfied, I leaned back in my chair as far as it would allow me to and took the headphones off, rolling my head around a bit to relieve the tension I woke up with today. It was more than a little worrying, considering that I've been getting these far too often these past few months. 

The topic of aging has since bothered me and has successfully wormed its way into my subconscious as well as physical, creeping under my hair follicles (or what's left of it), into the stories that my slumber tells me but most literally of all, it gets on my nerves. I ruffled my hair sheepishly, a gesture, as Niles says, becomes less significant with each passing year. Damn him for exhibiting such arrogant righteousness in such subjects! 

As I glanced into the neighbouring booth, Roz too, had her headphones off, her hair a spectacular mess around her head, her right fingers stringing through them while her left hand dug frantically into her purse for what I suspect to be a mirror. Women have excellent limb co-ordination when it comes to beauty touch-ups. She continued that way for a while, an endearing picture of mess and circus-standard balance, before giving up and walking into my booth shakily. With her hair still floating around her. 

I took a few seconds to muse on my words of advice. Growing old. Putting back into the butterfly's nest whatever bit we can find that was lost before. Lilith. Freddie. Boston. Sometimes I forget that I have an ex-wife and a son half the country away and another life that I left so long ago. It's a realisation that is alien to me. Maybe I've been single for too long. Maybe I just have to try something new once more. 

Seized by a sudden determination to spruce up the love-life that had wilted, I grabbed the address book that lay in my briefcase with all intention of apologising to the poor woman whose lap I fell into that day when the elevator lurched suddenly…she did seem quite a nice neighbour despite the false teeth that fell out on me – 

"Oh my God! I found a grey hair!" Roz moaned theatrically as she stormed into my booth, picking at individual strands of brown hair as she tried to locate the one that gave so much distress. 

To capture what was lost before? Or not. 

This is obviously is not a good sign. 

I couldn't help but stare. How can that woman see with her hair covering her eyes? Roz had so much hair around her such that I near couldn't tell the difference between her front and her back save for the direction her voice came from. 

"…hold this side to my face while I take the tweezers out. Frasier! Are you listening to me?" Roz demanded, fingers ready for combat against the poor hair shaft. 

A twist, a pluck and a relieved sigh. Our combined effort was way superior over that lone grey hair Roz triumphantly pulled out. 

"Thank you Frasier. You've helped me restore my confidence again. I can now go on dates freely without fear that I'll be labelled as the old wretch preying on young punks." 

"You're being ridiculous. There's still the lovely brown mane that covers your head and I for one, wouldn't notice anything more." 

I just complimented her and her only reply? 

"Ten seconds, Frasier." 

I felt the indignance well up against my will and manifest itself as a silly pout on my face. Thankfully she did not notice. I was nearing the end of my show when I noticed that Roz had that similar mulish look on her face when she saw that grey hair. Could she be facing a mid-life crisis? 

"…So Dr Crane, what do you suggest I tell my children bearing in mind that I need to be tactful and sensitive around them?" 

Ugh. That voice reminded me that I was still on the air and that my thoughts had wandered off without my own noticing. Maybe I was growing old too. What the heck, I AM growing old. Just haven't thought enough about what that really means. Not like it's time to start now though. Even so, watching Freddy grow up gives me an idea how Roz feels watching Alice grow up. Not to mention the embarrassing incident when Stefano revealed that horrid magnified forehead in that caricature of me! It _did _ look like me even more so now and I suspect it'll be just like looking into a mirror by the time I hit 60, I admitted that in the private recesses and comfort of my mind. 

The shame of Crane is the shame of Seattle, replied Ego. Yes, Ego, inflate yourself for these few rare seconds. 

Back to the show, Crane. I was momentarily at a loss for words and turned to Roz for help. "Tell them, um…tell them…WHAT BUSINESS IS THAT OF YOURS?!" was what I could only manage when Bulldog came in with his trolley, gong and other trivialities and knocked on my bald patch Roz referred to as the astronomical dome ages past. It's a fresh memory in my mind still, you know. 

"Oh no no, I meant—that" Ah, what the heck, he just hung up. An annoyed caller to end the day. 

"You're listening to Dr Frasier Crane, KACL, seven-eighty." 

"Nice wrap up, doc." 

"Well _thank you _ Bulldog." I managed to give my best glare reserved for personal insults (just the same glare I remember giving Dad a couple of weeks ago when he apologised for _forgetting _ to reserve places at Chez Henri and got tickets instead to a game) to Bulldog. I felt like raising a fist to address Bulldog's head but refrained from doing so at the last minute, restrained only by the stoic self-reminder that I am a gentleman. Or so as I would like to have thought. It's difficult for a man who's nearly 50 to admit he doesn't really know how to make a fist. Thumbs inside or outside? Which angle to swing? I hear that it can result in broken fingers and bloodied knuckles that would not bode well for playing the piano. 

Maybe I should have taken Dad's advice to learn a little martial arts. Just a little, so as to preserve the tastes for the refined still. My, my. A radio psychiatrist who kickboxes with a taste for fine dining, wine and opera. Life didn't get any better when I sum myself up this way. 

"Dinner, Roz?" I asked as unobtrusively as I could. Her eyes brightened and her expression told it all before her speech came. I already knew she would accept this offer and I was determined to make it a special evening where we both could talk our hearts out. Strange how I notice things like these about her after working together all those years. With Niles gone for over 2 years, it was still difficult to manage without a younger sibling to argue with and also care for. Arguing with dad and picking tiffs with Eddie, well, they were not the same. 

"I'd be grateful Frasier." 

We left the station, each feeling a little more light-hearted than when we first came in. 

********** 

'CAN I GET YOU ANYTHING ELSE, MA'AM?   
YES, ANOTHER BABY PLEASE' 

We were way into our main course before my dam broke. I sobbed into the chicken that I was having until it looked unrecognisable. And I also knew that this would happen. Damn, damn, damn! Trust Frasier to pick it up too. Would he have otherwise suggested dinner? He looked worried, scrunched up his face and mumbled for things to say. 

"…er….Roz…I..uh.." more furtive glances around our table. I couldn't help it and simply sobbed louder. Deciding I was more important than saving face, Frasier drew his chair to my side and held my shoulders, patting them awkwardly, an action which I still felt comforted by. 

He looked nonplussed and a bit appalled by the attention my sobbing made and glanced around a little more before scowling at those who had eyes on us. I knew him so well that it would take this much to pacify him; you need nothing less and nothing more to make up this certain man Dr Frasier Crane. 

"Motherhood is crashing on me Frasier! I was in the kitchen a week ago and it suddenly struck me that Alice will one day ask me why all the kids in her school have daddies and why she doesn't. What if she thinks I'm not good enough a mother for her? What if I am not there for her every need?" The words came out of my mouth faster than I wanted them to and I realised that for them to come out at such speed without thinking made it an issue that really bothered me –every thought, every waking hour such that letting them go was an enormous relief. Frasier was silent for a while as I queried my own body. The dejection has definitely lessened after all and I found it in myself to order dessert. 

"Oh Roz," he sighed, "this is never easy isn't it?" He looked down for a while and tried to gather his thoughts, his eyes straying involuntarily to my now inedible chicken before he grimaced. 

"All I can say is that you're a wonderful mother and I have every confidence that you'll continue to be this way. Alice will only grow up to love you fiercely. She will know that the two of you cope just as fine as the rest of the other families. Don't you love motherhood?" 

Do I love motherhood? 

I love the fussing but not the damper it has put on my dating circuit. 

I love the children's clothes and the hours spent picking them out but not the rude sales people. 

I love watching Alice learn more and more and but hate the time when she learns she has no Daddy to holler for. 

I love to tuck her into bed every night and say the words 'Sweet dreams darling' and hate it when the babysitter does that instead. 

I love…Point taken, Roz Doyle. The Pros more than outweigh the Cons. 

Well, I would _love _ a man to say a loving goodnight to her and a hot goodnight to me… 

Yes, I decided, I love it more than anything, much more than I expected before Alice came. And I found that I didn't have to verbally answer his question after all those thoughts ran transparently through my face as it did through my head. 

"Ah." There is was again, that same tight-lipped half grin that carries a lot more power to provoke or comfort than a whole mass of words. 

"Maybe, Frasier, just maybe, I need to re-affirm the roles of responsibility and stabilise then by taking on something more." I suggested rather recklessly and was rewarded by a disbelieving glare. 

"Roz! Just because you hang around a psychiatrist all day doesn't mean you have to be influenced the wrong way around! Why don't you just get pregnant again, give Alice a nice brother or sister while I take you up on your challenge by learning a new musical instrument that I know is near impossible to handle! Like the double bass! Well that should teach us something more about responsibility huh?" He raised a hand theatrically in front of my face and peered closely into my eyes as if checking for cloudiness caused by a fever. The same way I do each time I think Alice is falling ill. 

Was that pity I saw flash through his eyes? No, I decided that I did not want his pity nor sympathy. I'm a proud woman you see and I went through my pregnancy affirming that thought. There was no question that I would be a mum without any more male interference. God knows, I've had enough of those. 

"Thank you Frasier." I replied pensively, putting down the dessertspoon and fingered the napkin. He must have detected my yet again erratic change in mood when he leaned in and asked me rudely if I was pregnant again. 

"Oh yeah, I'm about a month along already. Do you care to be the new baby's Godfather? Or shall I ask Martin instead?" He raised his palms in conciliatory surrender at my acid tone, put them down after a while and relaxed. 

"Roz," he said after a thoughtful pause, "You know, the responsibility never goes away. It is what matters most. Just when you think you've escaped it after the wild years, they come back in a different form, maybe you've found it again this time in the shape of Alice. And I see that you've been enjoying it so much that responsibility is not wholly a cumbersome burden anymore as it was before." 

What could I say? My best friend, despite his self-obsession, pomposity and pretentiousness really had a tender heart. 

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Daphne and Donny's wedding." I started imagining the whole pretty ceremony; forgive me if I get a little cynical for this for the quest (or the course?) of true love never did run smooth. Oh ho ho, don't look at me baby, I only took Shakespeare because of that cute lecturer in college. And then promptly dropped out of his class when I entered his office one day to see photos plastered all over his wall of his insanely pretty wife and four kids. 

"I can't believe that in two weeks Daphne will be a married woman. How will dad and I get along. Not to mention there's also something…" He interrupted and sighed. 

"The bridesmaid dress will NOT be green, I swear…" I interrupted back. It gets kinda fun, in the most impolite sort of way, interrupting people as they speak and getting interrupted back in the process until both speakers speak at the same time. To hell with 'messing-the-thought-process'. This makes me think on my feet, allows me to say whatever's really on my mind and let it ALL go. And damn, it feels good. And people call this a rude thing to do?! 

"Roz? Roz! Are you listening to me? Niles comes back in 3 days." I was raising my glass mid-way and stopped when he announced that bright conspiratorial eyes that held more than a tinge of desperation. 

Uh oh. 

No wonder it has been thundering with the occasional hail non-stop this past week. 

********** 

WHO'S SUITORS KEEP KNOCKING? 

"A latte, please." No frills, no thrills. It's been a long time since I've ordered something so plain. Maybe I didn't feel the thrill at the moment testing the patience of waiters and waitresses with the combinations of coffee I did in the past. _A decaf, non-fat, no-foam latte, Colombian, mixed with hot water exactly 100 deg, 1/8 teaspoon full of sweetener… _

A nice and boring time at the Café is all that I want. Things had never been easy with dad, especially the trying time when Niles slipped away to Quebec to pursue psychiatric research over 2 years ago. He simply packed, shipped his stuff over to Canada and stayed there, with nary a wink or a flutter! Daphne as a buffer, well, there was only so much she could do besides telling the 'old sod' to shape up for his exercises and poking snide comments at me. 

Even till now, things just could not be simple when it came to that…that…schizophrenic relationship between Niles and Daphne. More often than not characterised by denial on his side of course. 

An unbelievable seven years since I returned from Boston. The last time I remembered something like this was when Niles asked if I was happy. I'm still thinking about it. But today my nerves are frayed. I was in the process of calming them with subtle deep breaths when a shaky laugh that belonged (unbelievably) to Dad interrupted my thoughts. 

"…Er..yeah, maybe. Yes, yes…" I looked up to see Dad waved cheerily and then muttered a "don't count on it." If I didn't know better, I'd think Dad was ready to cross himself against another potential partner of the same sex. The last time it happened, Dad's desperation in throwing off someone ended up with me posing as his boyfriend. 

"Hey son. All I did was smile at the guy in the park who had a similar Jack Russell looking like he wanted to befriend Eddie! I smiled and the owner made his move instead." Dad sat down heavily with a sigh. 

"They don't stop coming, do they, even at your golden age?" Dad glared at that smirk on my face and I decided to start over. 

"Listen Fras, don't start." A passing waiter was unlucky enough to take Dad's snappish order and my pity for him grew increasingly. 

"You've got to have patience dad, when it comes to the affairs of the heart or when it just comes to anything else…WILL YOU HURRY UP WITH MY LATTE, I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY!!" 

"So, Daphne at Donny's again?" I couldn't really resist asking such a question, knowing full well that Dad and I had larger implications to worry about –Niles' return. 

"Yeah, my exercises are finished anyway. The hip is getting so much better that soon there will be no need for her I think." Dad's face contained no expression, but I knew better. We'll all miss her terribly when she moves out, the cream between the blackened oreo cookies that made it delicious to eat. 

"Now for the problem we've all been waiting to drag out into the open. How will Niles take it when he finds out that she is to be married?!" 

"Look son, we never managed to wrench the true reason of why Niles really left Seattle and I don't think that's important anymore. But it's not like he's had an affair or something –," 

The waiter chose at this moment to bring our coffees, lingering at our table for an unusual amount of time, bending forwards to stir the coffee properly before straightening up to reach into his apron to clean invisible specks off the green fabric. 

"Why don't you just pull up a chair and join us?!" I think I've given him enough reason to tender his resignation at Nervosa. 

"Anyway Fras, whether he tells or not, it's his choice. Daphne or no Daphne, he's going to re-build his life here and as his older brother you should give him all your support. I don't know if he's back for good, he may or may not, but it's his life, Fras." 

"But dad…" 

Dad waved it away dismissively. 

"Listen to your old man for once," Dad scowled. 

"Granted, you've had more than your fair share of eye-rolling fights, silly quarrels but it's blood we're talking about here. Will you be here if he needs you? Will you remember that responsibility is what matters most?" 

_Responsibility is what matters most _? Didn't I tell Roz that just about 3 days ago too? Are dad and I more psychically linked than the distance between Jupiter and Earth? Or am I simply growing closer to dad's age? 

The old man and his dog. Will there be a time where I buy my own wretched little thing and move in with Frederick? The responsibility of handling a brother never goes away even though you are nearly half a century old. Just like Roz' wrestle with motherhood. 

It never really goes away. 

"Yeah yeah, it's on my shoulders now?" 

"Has always been, son. We'll act like nothing has changed." 

We picked Niles up that night, brought him home for dinner and found out that everything has changed. 

********** 

COUNTERPOINT I: ONLY TIME 

_And who can say if your love grows,   
__As your heart chose? _- Enya, Only Time 

What an unglorious night. Perfect weather, cool and un-rainy, the beautiful Space Needle, the illuminated Seattle, the one man who broke my heart and a growing argument to match. I felt it in my bones, I saw it in my psychic dreams and now it's happening. Aw jeez. 

"Hello Daphne." It was an awkwardness that the lousiest of sensors could have picked up on. Dr Crane did not know he uncovered a minefield by suggesting we renew (?!) our acquaintance in private on the balcony –what better place in such perfect weather. 

That interfering yet dear sweet man who I call my employer is also someone whom I can't decide whether to curse or thank. 

I found that I could not speak. The overflow of emotions slammed and choked up my throat and I was certain that every single emotion that rushed past in a single intake of breath–anger, hate, joy and repressed desire, also went past my face plainly. 

"How have you been?" He offered timidly, as if bracing himself for the blast of a sledgehammer. 

"Do you mean better days? Contented days? Couldn't be better actually." I really couldn't help it. Seeing him again only brought out the hurt and pain and opened fresh wounds. I wanted to hurt him back the way he hurt me, so I was caustic and curt as I did my best to show him the kind of life I was leading since he went away –a wronged yet beatific picture of it all. Of love lost and found with Donny? An emotional Rags-to-Riches story? Or is it the other way around? But I also wanted to show him that I was above all the hurt and that I had the ability to be happy without him. To prove childishly that he was not so important as to rock my whole world. 

Isn't it excruciating to know that your worst acts are committed for the ones you love most? But I've never told him that I loved him, just assumed that he knew and on another level I knew I couldn't blame him for going away and taking it all with him because I've only led him on to think it was nothing more than one night. And it was so difficult to say it otherwise and accept that the hurt I felt was really largely self-caused. 

"Why did you leave straight after?" I figured coming straight to the point would be best after all, considering it was over between us. But I'm not sure if it has even started. I only assumed that night had been somewhat of a start, oh the foolishness on my part. 

He looked at me for a while, a lost look that made it look as if he was about to cry and took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, chest heaving but I did not relent. 

"Daphne, I know I owe you guys an explanation, you too, above all but…" 

"Why can't you just come out for once? Does everything here have to be done with double standards and white lies?" I snapped, unable to really understand what all the hesitation was all about. After all, we have our own spouses-to-be don't we? What's wrong now with admitting to what really happened and then move on with our marriages? I have never been so aware of my adjective usage until now, because I'd be lying if I said we move on happily. 

"Dammit Dr Crane! I thought we were still going to be friends after that night. You left without saying a word of goodbye! Surely you don't think friends do that to each other!" 

He made a little strangled sound at the back of his throat and attempted to speak. But I needed to continue, before I lost any nerve and broke down like a bawling baby. 

"I trusted you with my heart then and you broke it!" 

He looked shocked, as if he never expected that declaration. So my expectations were right after all. He hadn't known that I loved him since that night, that point when my world turned over; that experience which did nothing less than make him more than a friend. 

"No, listen Daphne! It's not the way you think at all! I didn't leave…well, it's still something I'm trying to unravel myself, but going to Canada for a while was my salvation, at least for a while, because I from that night on I realised I wasn't able to go on normally after knowing what we were like together!" 

It is strange, indeed, listening to him talk about us as though we were again 2 single people all those years ago-back to the point where we had the luxury of wondering whether we had a chance together, despite all the little glitches that came with our friendship. The skittishness when we were alone or even the sexual tension, how pregnant pauses between certain conversations could lead up to —He told me he loved me after our lovemaking, just that once and never mentioned it again; I didn't think he meant it; I didn't say anything then, but I'd give all to say it now. 

_Why didn't you just tell me Niles? We shouldn't have gone on pretending. You didn't have to leave, I wouldn't have agreed to marry Donny and Mel wouldn't even be here -- _

"The time up north was like a suspended heaven –I got the chance to rebuild my life, meet new people and for once I realised that maybe my life had been too cornered in Seattle with only you in my thoughts." 

For some reason I felt like a broken woman. 

"We..." He held up a hand and his face softened. 

"Please Daphne. Let me finish this before I lose anything. I felt as though I left with so much to lose –a successful practice, a broken heart, my family, you...it was something I regretted for a long time but I just couldn't come back; I promised myself I would only do so when I was ready to come back a new man. But that aside, there is a Donny for you now," He finished warmly. 

"Oh, Dr Crane," 

But he wanted to speak on, smiling the sad smile that I've always associated with him. 

"And for a long time, Daphne, the fantastical bliss of starting all anew was nothing more than illusions. I only met Mel in Canada in recent months and well, one thing led to another and now we've been engaged for nearly a year." 

"This was the one thing that convinced me to come back, other than the fact that I've convinced myself that I've changed radically enough to face all of you again." 

If you told me this now, Niles, I think my heart would stop. 

"I cannot live without my soul, Daphne." 

My great thought in living is he. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be. And if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger; I should not seem a part of it. 

He completed my story for me. No, we completed my story, the one that I told that night. Will we ever complete his, the story with an ending that goes easier on the heart? 

I felt then the wetness on my face, and then sorry that we missed so much. He's different now. More assured, confident and aware of what he thinks he can get and what he thinks he cannot. We have spent so much time in false assumptions and false hopes, when will it all end? 

We stayed silent for another long moment and I supposed the ball was now in my court to at least say something. But nothing positive can come out of this, I was sure. We've both chosen too far to make a detour. I was sorry that I took the path more trodden on because I simply didn't have the courage to do anything else radically different. So I did what a lot of people would do –to give it all up. 

"We're both engaged now, Niles. I owe it to Donny, Niles, to marry him. You owe Mel that equally, you know." The sense of duty was in its shiniest and most hypocritical hour. 

"Know that I love you Daphne. Always." I barely found it in myself to do the same to him. 

But what really broke me was the finality of us when he told me to use the memory of the time we had, just as Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman had to live with in _Casablanca _. 

We said goodnight soon after and I thought there was nothing much left to say after all. 

I wanted to cry; I wanted to shout at the injustice of realising and losing love all within the same hour; I wanted to fling myself into his arms or off the balcony in an envisioned tragic heroine's death. But Daphne Moon will now keep her dignity and bravely hold tragedy within her heart. 

I never though I'd see him here, not after that long forever that was only 2 years. A short time. Also a long time. 

Too short a time for Grammy Moon to see the Moors again before she died. Too short a time to see a child like Alice grow up. Too short a time to realise that we are all getting older without any choice in the matter. 

But too long a time to wait for someone to come back to you. 

2 years ago, he said that life would go on, in other words, let time take care of everything. Let time reveal the name of love, let time help me figure out what I really wanted. To let time speak for itself. But what if I can't wait for time? But what if I die only to taste love's tip of the iceberg? But what would Niles of the present say? 

Time has made me uncertain again. 

The philosophy of time, love and death. 

It's so simple, really, after trying so hard to sort out its complicated tangles no matter which circular way I looked at it. I would only end up on any point in this circle but never found a way to break the circle itself and force it into a line that was not beyond my reach. Giving up the rationalising was the best part however, and then it all came back to me. Something that I told Grammy Moon in my childlike naivety which she laughed gently at and nodded her head approvingly. I remember shouting out that fleeting thought only once in my teens while becoming dizzied after chasing a butterfly. That thought flitted off on that day too the moment the butterfly flew off. Strange how it simply flits back in now, this time solidifying, gaining such clarity I wonder why it just did not occur to me before. 

This is the time I have left. I want to love as much as I can and die content knowing that I have been true to love. Has this eluded me because I've simply searched for love in the wrong places? 

But I cannot choose when I will love. Time chooses that for me. 

I can love Donny, but it will be a comfortable kind of love. I can love much too, but maybe never fully. And the saddest part of it all is that, maybe that time for me to love most fully came and went. And like that simple thought, this particular time came and swept me off my feet 2 years ago and left me just as suddenly. It flitted by again, just tonight and maybe now it will go away for good. I suddenly felt very tired. Tired of not being able to identify the turn of emotions that his little speech brought about, tired of the wild goose chase we've both voluntarily subjected ourselves too and above all, mentally tired. I simply wanted to go to bed. It was as though I've regressed back into my childhood when Grammy Moon used to tuck me in. I insisted on a story even though I fell asleep before Grammy went onto her second sentence. 

********** 

It came with the force of a hailstorm, not that of a tornado, thank good God above, but still a considerable typhoon nonetheless. 

We also found out how much we both loved each other –in a roundabout way until I decided to come clean at the end. 

And I did most of the verbal work. Daphne did the talking through the expressions on her face. Where I seemed to be tongue-tied for the 5 years I loved her from afar, verbal virtuosity was now bestowed upon me the same way Athena leapt out of Zeus' head – effortlessly. 

She was still as beautiful as she was the night she left my apartment but I was unprepared for the sharp tongue she appeared to possess now. I took in her sultry voice without hesitation, like a man thirsting for water in a desert despite it being laced with touches of bitterness and wistfulness when she proudly tilted her head to the side and told me straight to my face that she couldn't have been better. Yes, she was angry and never more desirable than now, but I am already an engaged man. And she, dear god, was also an engaged woman. 

And I was shocked at the passion in her words when she confessed angrily that I took her heart with me when I left. 

"What do you mean by that Daphne?" 

"What do you think _that _meant, Dr Crane?" She shot back without missing a beat and started to cry, tears running down her face which I suspected she wasn't even aware of. 

So I told her. I told her of my cowardice and the hope of starting anew and thought I saw more than a blaze of disbelief and anger when I said something to the likes of being too cornered in Seattle. My strong, admirable Daphne. She has a strength that I don't, a strength that insists on her going through what she has started and not running away from it, unlike me. 

I came here with little expectations. Rather, not knowing what to expect. Even her confession that she loved me forced the air out of me but I was proud that I did not faint. I realised if I wanted to love, I needed to do it with all the force in my body and mind. 

What kind of living will it be when you - oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave? 

Last night I was on the threshold of hell. Today, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me! 

Or am I? Hell doesn't seem to far away still while heaven, seeps closer and closer as I breathe in more and more of Daphne in this arduously circular conversation we're having. 

"I cannot live without my soul, Daphne." That was the bastard's way out, I reckon –confessing Daphne will always be my whole heart by throwing back at her the words of Heathcliff, knowing this story held sombre significance for us both. 

Well, there was something to do now. One of us has to come clean and I swore to myself that tonight it will be me, no matter how painful things turned out. Niles Crane is a new man, one who had Mel now. 

Her name was short, single-syllabled and not as pleasurable to pronounce as… 

"Know that I love you Daphne. For Always." I touched her face lightly, choosing to show her all that I felt in that sentence before stepping away, into the living room, into sanity and reality once more. 

Weep away, weep away. I do not know anymore if we have anything else together, not even the friendship we've abruptly muted. I don't know whether can even continue as friends after all that has transpired within these 2 years. 

"I love you too." She whispered. 

And it all ended when we declared our love for each other. No passionate kiss or hug, just the sound of our voices saying this precious sentence to each other to remember for the rest of our lives. An understated parting, with many more words left unsaid – where we pledge our love and then return to our respective partners for the sake of propriety, for the sake of not disturbing the fabric of carefully sewn-out comfort zones. 

We both knew there was nothing left to say. I bade her goodnight later on and squeezed her hand warmly. Neither of us voiced the lingering question of whether we'll see each other again or not. 

********** 

The dinner went worse than I expected as the awkwardness dissipated only after the last spoonful of dessert was taken. The relief at being able to step away from the dining table was stark and sweet before Dad took to his chair, I jumped up with a bounce in my feet and Daphne ducked into the kitchen to start on the dishes. I knew something more than an electric charge passed through the way Niles and Daphne looked at each other and looked with increasing concern as he requested to speak to her on the balcony. They were faint silhouettes in the dark as I sat on my couch, taking more than just cursory glances at them every 8 seconds before looking back at the TV screen for another eight. 

They became more and more agitated, well, at least Daphne was. My poor brother only looked as if he was about to faint from each word she spat, her body movements more erratic as she paced the length of my balcony, lifting her arms when she wished to prove a point, barely allowing my brother to get any words in. He came back in and poured himself a sherry, the crazed look in his eyes diminishing a little. 

I joined Niles on the balcony for a sherry. 

"Lovely night." I offered, trying to get him to speak and let it all go. And he did. And oh the things that he talked about –love and loss, Daphne, his going away, meeting Mel and all that trying to rebuild a life, and finally their decisions to stay apart. The stuff of legends and tragedy. By the end of it, he too, was crying and like Daphne, he is probably fighting the rational and the emotional now, the simple and the complicated, of wanting each other and yet torn to responsibility. And they knew that their decisions to pledge allegiance to responsibility would be a decision that they would be thinking over a lot more for a long time. 

And what courage it took. I could have never been prouder of him, only that I wished it all ended differently, that they had the courage to live with the choices they had made! 

"Oh Niles. I am so sorry." I sighed wearily. He sighed in response too; the strain of tonight has given him much more than what he bargained for. And I felt a sudden flash of anger on his behalf. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't we have had a simple family dinner and speak about Niles' romp in Canada? Why did it always come to this? Ah, my little brother, the unfairness of it all isn't it? But Niles wasn't angry; it didn't look as if anything could really ruffle him anymore, not after the tumble and turns (pardon the bad puns) with Daphne. 

"I am sorry too- no, actually. I'm not sorry. Frasier, I don't want to fight what happens any longer." 

Something was definitely wrong there, but I didn't pursue it. Niles had never been a natural survivor; he was never able to take life's backhands at him when he was a child or even when he was with Maris. 

"Are you back for good?" 

"To be honest Frasier, I don't know myself. Coming back here is coming back to all that I ran away from. You see, I have a new life starting soon and so does Daphne." 

"Just make sure you involve us too –we're still family." 

"I know. Thank you and I –Goodbye, Frasier. See you soon." 

He turned and stepped into the living room, collected his coat. He gave us a hug each and bade us all goodnight, Daphne included. 

They were standing a distance apart, maintaining a space of propriety, wishing each other goodnight, with unmistakable looks of despair and hope in their eyes. It was unbearable to watch, difficult to swallow and above all, I felt as if I was standing on the edge of a precipice, watching with bated breath to see how the dramatic act resolves itself. I can't even imagine how Niles feels. 

And for a rare moment, I was gifted with an incredible insight we all get when thrust deeply enough into any situation; it doesn't matter if such insight departs later, but right now it re-affirmed all that I am (my profession as a psychiatrist), all that I wanted for my brother and how much I wanted it to work out for all of us. I saw my brother as someone whose intense feelings are those of any man in love, who, was given a glimpse of bliss a night long ago, spent the next 2 years running away from that glimpse because it threatened to consume and strip him of any emotional defences, defences which the psyche will not give up without sacrificing a part of itself. That answer was too quiet, too sad and too hopeless to listen to and strangely, painful to my ears. I imagine that it must have torn his heart as he spoke them. 

"Isn't there always Paris, Daphne?" He murmured and leaned forward, giving her a quick hug and stepped away as if that movement helped restore the balance of formality he thought he had tipped for a while. 

She jerked her head once in a semblance of a nod, taking his hug in her stride. From the corner of my eye, I saw my dad's face fall. 

And then he was gone. 


	3. Culmination Part 3

**Culmination   
****Part III **

by Aenigmatic ( vesania@gmx.net ) 

**_Author's Note: _**

_I have nothing to do with Grub Street productions nor the sitcom 'Frasier'. I have no money either should anyone decide to sue. I'm sorry for taking such a long time! As you can see, I finally found it in myself to finish part 3 – which was supposed to be the end of the story, but it sure doesn't look like it! (Simply because I figured it'll never be up should I finish writing at a go) _

You may just find a few heartless twists of dialogues/plots used in actual episodes again. Like the first 2 parts, the changes in perspectives are reflected by ***. 

Thank you so much to those who took the time to email me what you thought about my story and to urge me on. Feedback will be appreciated very, very, very, very, very much! 

********** 

CRANE THE MULTI-TALENTED 

The tension between the basses and the first violins was excruciating –always the perfect balance when Herbert von Karajan takes up the baton. I waited with bated (hmm, pun unintended) breath and tightly shut eyes for the next few climatic bars to approach; it whizzed by with the speed of a bullet train and I felt my heartbeat raise a little— 

ROAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Came the cheering crowd after a touchdown. I opened my eyes with such force that I thought some membrane might tear. Dad chose to touch the button on the remote just as I was scaling the wondrous heights of Brahms' second symphony. 

I also wondered, how come I haven't yet found the time to throw that chair out or Eddie in front of a bus. 

"DAD!!!!!!!" He simply couldn't have more perfect timing than that. In a twisted, twisted way, he'd make an excellent musician who will probably get his musical cues when the conductor raises his hand to scratch his head and not conduct. A climatic ending alright. I briskly stomped to the CD player and stopped the music, peeved at the interruption. The refined, snobbish world of classical music and opera pushed to a low by football. I'd like to see a match between these two. If fate allows it, Dad and I will probably even be in opposing teams. 

"Aw jeez! I missed a touchdown!" 

"Sorry son." Dad apologised with eyes glued wholeheartedly to the television screen. It's probably an apology he knew he didn't exactly mean; he apologised knowing that I knew he didn't mean it. No wait –he knew beforehand that he would… 

Oh forget it. Frasier, let it go. The mental calculativeness aside, I'd really like to think of myself as magnanimous. 

Eddie is an exception though and successfully pushes away all expressions of magnanimity in me. Instead of wasting time thinking of insidious ways to exterminate that poor creature, I should perhaps do what Roz suggested and bring something more productive out of that brain of mine. I could not help but start imagining what I should and should not acquire. After all, I have, after 7 years in Seattle, built a reputation that can be dashed in a snap of my fingers. 

Frasier Crane and his latest acquisition-the washbasin of Sigmund Freud? Too dirty for the elegance of Elliot Bay somehow. Knowing dad, it'd be a lowly chamber pot for Eddie. 

Margot Fontaine's first pair of ballet shoes? Too out of place. 

Frasier Crane and the latest van Gogh oil painting acquired from a stuffy auction – 

Frasier Crane and antique wine rack that held the very same bottle of wine that Marie Antoinette held – 

Ooooh. The possibilities were endless. 

Frasier Crane and his newly refurbished grey marble tiled bathroom–no, that was all wrong. That didn't turn up in my mind as elegantly as my thought came. Instead, Lilith came to mind almost immediately. 

Something less physical perhaps? Didn't someone say somewhere and sometime that the physical is no way as challenging as the mental? The mental has and always will be the real test of the – 

How to get rid of Eddie without dad noticing. 

Or NOT. 

Frasier Crane and his latest musical skill. I like it. 

Maybe I should pick up the violin and take any symphony to soaring heights, or the trumpet and do the 1812 overture proud. Yet I demand it to be an instrument of sophistication, of class and poise, an instrument that calls irresistibly out for attention not with its appearance but because its player handles it with immense care and extricates out from it the purest of sound. Of course, no man achieves the great without ambition and without first stepping into the unknown. 

What an honour to be that individual to bring the sweetest music, nectar to the ears of those sitting in the concert hall, ruptured by the sheer immensity… 

Or…maybe, just maybe…I should just learn something else outrageous. 

************ **

TALENTS OVERWHELMING 

He sailed into my booth proudly holding a pair of brand new drumsticks. 

For a while I couldn't catch it. It was more than a bit fuzzy, the associating of objects to its owner. Drums? DRUMS?! 

Frasier/drums? Drums/Frasier? Hold it, hold it, there's gotta be a reasonable explanation for it – 

"Morning, Roz. Good day it is." He leaned against the doorway, thoughtfully clicking the sticks together lightly so that they made just the right sound that drives my curiosity as would my blood pressure. 

I merely spared him a quizzical look. Something was up, of course, but over the years I paid less and less attention to them, unless his latest rendezvous contained words like 'men' and 'single'. 

He waved the sticks at me, and glared slightly when he received less than a warm response. 

"Now tell me Frasier if I'm seeing correctly." 

"What you are seeing Roz, is not just a pair of new drumsticks but a new man with a new identity." I couldn't help it, really, when I rolled my eyes. 

"How much are you…" 

"Oh Roz! I gained so much insight just from the first lesson. How we view rhythm so differently, this pulse of life that I manifest on the drums has always been in me –in all of us, in fact…" 

"Uh, I meant…" I never got to finish my question. I didn't really have the heart to stop him too; I've never seen him this enthusiastic and eager in a long time. 

"…listen to the beat of your heart! It's all there Roz, all of it! I never thought it could be so exciting learning something so…so…initially distasteful but it's so different from anything I've done before! The instructor showed me the various drumbeats –ooh, the variations that come with each genre of music…I can gladly say that the closest I came to listening to pop or rock music today was John William and the Boston Pop's Classical Gas and I heard the absolute glory of…..oh well!" 

He went on for about another minute, scarcely remembering to breathe in between his sentences and I was distinctly reminded of a train blasting to its tragic and fiery grave the moment it hit a mountain, all out of control. 

Instead, he simply deflated as a balloon would, whatever fire that was there extinguished all but for this moment. He took a deep breath and –started again. 

"And…what..er..were you saying Roz?" He ventured sheepishly, perhaps even slightly embarrassed at his forceful deliverance a while ago. 

"I..uh, only wanted to ask you how much these lessons cost." I finished rather weakly, in contrast to his fervent boom. 

"Ah. I see." His mouth hung slightly open and I couldn't decide to whether laughing aloud or sighing aloud was a better option. 

"You know Roz," he began, all pomposity lost and all seriousness gained, "what we talked about the last time really bothered me. And I don't want to live in routine even with a successful radio-show and a comfortable life to match. There're new things to do and I surprise even myself by taking up such an unusual hobby." 

I puckered up my lips, a million things running through my head as I tried conjuring up various replies to what he said. 

But somehow I felt obligated to reply in equal seriousness. Whether it was within my coarse ability to was a different case though. He's a good friend after all, not to mention an excellent confidante, so maybe he wouldn't mind so much if I mention that I really doubt this latest phase of musical experimentation. 

Now _that _ finally made sense. 

"One day, Frasier, you and your new hobby will get all of us into trouble." I predicted curtly and surely. 

He merely shrugged off my dubious tone –he was unshakeable today and heaven help us all when this happens. 

"Goood day Seattle and what a lovely day it is! You're on the air with Dr Frasier Crane, KACL…" 

I stared open-mouthed. The sleek and smooth version of Frasier Crane is on air. I could barely remember the occasions that he was ever like this, except for the time during his advertising stint or when…. 

"—first caller regaling in the throes of music, amid the different genres that transcend humanity's boundary of hearing into feeling, not unlike the Zen's notion…" 

He began humming the introduction of a classical piece –was it by Bach or Chopin (it wasn't like I could tell the subtle difference between pitch and tone or even style), waving his fingers idly around the console, starting a personal conducting stint of his own. People were now staring into our booth, curious grins plastered on their faces and boy, was I sure glad that I was partially hidden from the glass that separated us. 

His hobby has made him eloquent to the point of nonsense, not philosophy. 

It was going to be an interesting day. 

********** 

DEFINITELY NO SMALL FEAT WHEN IT COMES TO   
SHRINK UNCERTAINTY 

It was one of the most painful days of my life. 

Eddie sat on my lap, Daphne was at Donny's, depriving of her female presence we 3 men needed desperately; Dad sat on his dirt scourge 1957 while Niles sat in unusual silence next to me, his hand on Eddie's back. But that was the only reason Niles came over –the lack of Daphne. 

Niles opened his mouth tentatively and I perceived rather than heard him forming the first word – 

"Don't start, Niles." I tongued it out sharply, the humiliation of the day still fresh in my mind. He opened and closed his mouth, and the image of a fish that awkwardly stopped breathing for a while flashed startlingly through my mind. 

Somehow the most embarrassing moments of our lives become only more and more embarrassing when we relive it hotly in front of those closest to us. Niles, Niles, Niles. What am I really, to do with you? This man whose gait always seemed to come under the shadow of his brother, whose personality as neurotic as my own developed out of the twist of our childhood. We share the same blood, no doubt about it and it has been only dad who never seemed to understand how we managed it. Your mother wasn't even half you boys, he used to joke indulgently when he went through photos of mum and him. I suppose that the pain and humiliation of an event such as today becomes only more painful when you realise it serves as a reminder of an equally painful childhood that can never slip from your mind despite the years of separation and all the effort that went into suppressing it. 

"I was just taking a sip of the sherry, Frasier. Do not be so presumptuous as to assume that I was going to saying anything to soothe that large ego of yours." 

"So kindly explain to me why you opened your mouth without even lifting up a sherry glass that not even in front of you?" 

He simply looked at me and let out a long-suffering sigh, looked down and looked up, as if he was going through the motions of a tiny exercise routine each time he hesitatingly said something. 

"Frasier, if you just let it go it will not bothe—" 

"Don't- !!" I made a sharp movement, pointing my accusing finger straight at his mouth. He grimaced and pushed my finger away with distaste (how could I have forgotten the fastidiousness of this person whom I sometimes hesitatingly call my brother) and stood up. 

"I am not looking for a grand catharsis nor some great purge of tears if you were expecting that!" I reiterated it once more, attempting to close his mouth with my other hand as I again perceived it moving. 

"Muumph...ah.." I only unwillingly took my hand off when I saw signs of Niles starting to hyperventilate. I will NOT, I repeat, I will not go easy on my brother today. 

"He's just trying to help, Fras! You didn't have to bite his head off didn't you? Fine, so the drums instructor chased you out of his house for accidentally collapsing his toms and high hats on his kitchen plates. So he told you never to come within a 5 mile radius of his home. So you rushed out of his house chased by his apparently docile Chihuahua that has a bark worse than its bite. Right. So what? Seattle's a big city. You're lucky you live on the other side of town! People aren't going to laugh at you because of that!" Dad betrayed himself by laughing uproariously at his own statement and for the life of me, just where is the humour I'm also supposed to laugh at?! 

So much for trying to learn something new, funky and outrageous. 

"Frasier, maybe this just isn't the right instrument for you. Maybe there is something else out there you're suited for, something more suited to your…er…your..er, height and…and…your …err..face!" Niles brightened and I wanted to congratulate him so badly for trying so hard to come up with an encouragement for his own kin no doubt, that obviously took a lot of mental and not to mention physical power, for he fell back onto the couch heavily. 

_Oh Niles. If only you knew the extent which you're stretching yourself. _

The previous bluster gone, I looked at my little brother closely, observing the fine blond hair, that seemed duller these days, the blue eyes that were weary and jaded. But what struck me the hardest was the little window of great anguish they expressed when their owner forgot to guard his feelings. It was hard to pretend that everything was chipper with him, even though he went to great lengths to tell me things went well with Mel. There were lines of strain on his face that only seemed to appear in the past 2 years and he rarely showed the boyish side of him anymore, unless Daphne wasn't here. Strange how the reverse is happening now –he withdraws and becomes a mere shell whenever she is mentioned (they haven't seen each other since that emotional night at the balcony), the total opposite of his previous amorous advances. 

I felt sorry suddenly –sorry for him, sorry for being a such a nuisance over the petty matter of wanting to break routine while the person beside me has just faced the cataclysmic blow of his life. Something had been taken from him that night –or maybe it was simply gone from 2 years before; Daphne took with her his energy and maybe even half of his personality, leaving the pale shadow of his former self, which was simply not enough to sustain himself or even dad and I for that matter. 

I hardly see Daphne as it is too; she comes over when I'm at the station, leaving immediately after dad's therapy is done, perhaps fearing that if she lingered any longer, a coincidental meeting with Niles may just happen; they might just have another face-off which, they've both drummed into their own heads, can't come to any good; if anything, only more pain will result and maybe a separation of 20 years this time will do the trick. 

But I promised myself not to pry and that was proving more difficult that it first started out to be. The big 'bazoo' as dad scathingly calls has not yet worked it magic. 

So it was back to nursing that sorely bruised and beaten ego of mine. 

I simply wanted to prove to myself that I could do other things, to break the routine that life has become. Frasier Crane is never one to give up though. 

********** 

TALENTS OVERWHELMING –PART II 

He walked in 4 days ago with the guitar and I always thought he considered the humble 6-stringed instrument the lowest of life forms. Reminiscent of the hippie 60's, the poor guitar was facing incredible torture under his hands which I was certain did not touch anything dirtier than the ancient dirt found on some precious wine, give or take 42 generations. God forbid, but I could just imagine him growing his hair out, composing unintelligible world peace songs… 

Until he showed me his blistered fingers from strumming the wrong way, from pressing the steel strings to tightly and from replacing 2 sets of guitar strings within the duration of 5 hours. 

I couldn't decide if that was the last straw –both for me and for him! I was inching closer and closer to losing my temper each time he asked me whether the latest instrument of the day suited his oh-so-regal bearing and posture, his face and built and whatever else he could match his instrument with. But I softened immediately each time I saw his overflowing excitement, even if that was something that pandered more to his ego than a contribution to societal arts. 

I disciplined myself and steeled the fraying mental ends to be still as he launched into another musing of why he should learn his newest toy. 

Until yesterday. I was stunned speechless when he struggled through the doorway with a doublebass. The thought that came immediately after that was, _he sure ain't gonna last through anything _ and boy, was I right about it. 

********** 

**APPOINTMENTS: DINNER AT 7PM **

I called Roz rather urgently from Elliot Bay Towers during the show and spoke to her in secret during one of the rare days I actually decided to stay in, with the full assurance that he was occupied with his patients the whole day and his chances of visiting his brother were remote. Donny was away on some 'special case that needed immediate attention', but in truth, I didn't think I wanted to hear anything, nor was I interested very much anymore. 

Either one of us will be guaranteed to lose our job once Dr Crane finds out his producer and his physical therapist have been gossiping during his show. About him, no less. 

"—a fast student he is, despite the age! I really never think I'd say think, really but I think he has found the equivalent of his ego in that huge thing!" I laughed at my own crack and hearing Roz's deep-throated laughter melding along with mine, we did only what rationed silly school girls did –laugh even more. 

"I honestly take my hat off to him –the drums, the guitar, now the doublebass. Leaves us crossing our fingers though and we can start praying this is the last of his outlandish choices." 

"But you've got to admit, he's actually got a flair for it…oh did I tell you he offered to play at the wedding?" I looked around suspiciously since I didn't want even the slightest hint of praise to waffle the ears of any Crane man. It'd offend him so deeply that he would simply decide not to play at my wedding. 

" But that's only a week away!" 

"You can do anything once you put your mind to it," I recited plainly, summarising the gist of Dr Crane's latest philosophy especially in the music field. "I was reluctant, no, make that positively horrified, until Donny, that kind-heart decided to let him pluck the bass notes for the wedding march. Well, at least according to how his parents let him try a couple of musical instruments before he settled on singing and the piano he did show a little nimbleness on any stringed instrument." I confided the rest in her softly, choking back on my vowels while trying my hardest not to blow out a full-bellied howl of laughter. 

A low whistle on the other end of the line and an ominous silence followed. Dear god, her reaction was worse than I expected. 

"Roz?" I queried timidly, wondering what she was up to this time –Dr Crane was signalling for a commercial or something. But something sounded rather wrong with the sudden heavy breathing on the other side. A mental list of sudden illnesses ran through my mind –heart attack, a sudden stroke, a contraction of the lungs, oh dear god… 

"ROZ!" I roared with alarm, the possibilities of shock-related illnesses still running ominously through my mind as I made impromptu plans to rush down to the station to give her CPU should the worst happen. As a health-care giver, of course, it is always good to be prepared for emergencies… 

"Relax, I'm here. Just took my breath away for a minute, you get what I mean right? And that was really put mildly, you understand that right, Daphne?" Her terse voice returned with a vengeance. 

I imagined her grimacing and then scowling, debating whether to accept the invitation to dinner tonight –all thanks to Dr Crane who, like an excited boy wanted to give his first family 'recital' on the doublebass despite only learning the C major and C minor scale. But who knows, with that tunnel-vision practice he's been putting himself under, we may even expect a D scale tonight. 

"Well, 'tis isn't like it's never done before. A quirk through another, we all survive it somehow." I laughed rather lamely, wondering whether I meant that fully or not. Thankfully, it did seem to cheer her up a bit. 

"Right. I'll come, Daph. But that's not to say I retain my rights fully and leave whenever I feel like it." Roz had a certain calculative edge to her voice that meant something was definitely up. 

"You won't regret it Roz, I promise." Relief whooshed out of me in a single breath as I tried to reconcile her calculative tone with her seemingly easy agreement. Things like these never came easy with Roz around. 

I didn't give it anymore thought as I bent down to pick up a stray sheet of the newspaper. 

********** 

I hung my coat at the entrance of Nervosa and trudged my way to the counter and literally begged for a steaming cup of black coffee, no frills today. The constant rain in Seattle coupled with my excitement over the doublebass was turning out as the simultaneous flutters in my stomach and a pounding headache. Niles walked in 7 minutes and 4 seconds later, repeated the action of hanging up his coat and trudging his way forward. Oh well. Niles never trudges. He tiptoed to my table and sat down with a woosh, before remembering that he forgot to wipe a busload of bacteria off his seat. 

"For heaven's sake, Niles!" 

"What you can't see can hurt you Frasier." Came the reproachful reply. His hand unfolded the handkerchief but strangely, he decided against it and left it be. 

"Oh well, judging form the amount of dust sprayed on me as I walked the distance here, a few globs of well-beaten, off the track germs will not hurt to interact with all that rubbish." 

For a moment I considered if this Niles was really better than the familiar one that I knew. 

"Niles, I badly want to show you what I did for music class tonight. Why is that so difficult? I've re-invented myself, promised myself that this is the last of the 3 instruments that I've tried, alright, so those were flukes, but this is it!" 

"Frasier, you don't know just how glad I am for you, really. The advantages that come from you taking up new instruments, needing to break routine stretches far and wide. Eddie gets out of the house voluntarily, stays out for hours or more and so does dad while I get to study your ridiculous behaviour and publish them in a well-known journal. Yes, the pros sure outweigh the cons, Frasier." He said it dryly, reaching into his coat pocket again for that pristine handkerchief which never seem to dirty even though I was certain it wiped more than 5 chairs an hour. 

"Niles, will you give it up!" Exasperation doesn't even describe our dysfunctional relationship. Sometimes I believe that it would take very little to convince me that Niles was adopted as a child. But then again, I was convinced that my relationship with Niles had been and will always be of interlocking slides of fighting, petty contrivances against each other, comfort, love and compassion. 

"I told Mel that I could pick her up from the airport. She returns today from a conference. And I *think* we might just bring our relationship to the next excitable level, Frasier." He leaned over with shifty eyes, speaking conspiratorially. He was giddy, I saw with disbelief. 

"And that would be…? Provision of a second grandchild, perhaps, for dad?" 

"Frasier!" He looked genuinely shocked. "I just wanted to fixed a date for our wedding! That's excitable enough for both of us." 

"Yes, nothing so excitable for a couple whose idea of excitement is a round of botox injections." I shook my head and we both grabbed our coats. "Have you proposed yet?" 

He deflated slightly, turning his head sideways. 

"I thought 'I'm listening' was your motto, big brother. I said tonight!" 

"So, there isn't any possible way I can convince you to come over tonight?" 

"Afraid not, Frasier. But Mel and I may just drop by at the end of everything to bring all of you the news that she has accepted my proposal. We've both been expecting this for a while now. And…uh..will…….uh..will..uh…" 

"Yes, she will be there, Niles." I answered affirmatively, not bothering to see any further point in beating around the bush with Niles when it came to Daphne. 

He sagged even further, a picture of gloom on the sunny side of this street he thought he was presently walking down on. 

"Niles," I said gently, "You do realise that this can't go on, don't you? Mel is your security for now, as I see it. Maybe you never loved her, maybe she was simply a distraction that took your mind off Daphne –her efforts calming and to an extent, healing your conflicting emotions ever since the night you spent with Daphne is a debt of gratitude you feel you must pay don't you? Do you really wish to delude yourself this way?" 

He waved his arms dismissively for a while, his face plainly showing his predicament. 

"Well, I didn't think…" He started off candidly and gave up. "Oh well, I suppose you scored a hit on that one. The difficulty comes in not being able to face the truth and it's somewhat embarrassing for another psychiatrist to point something like that out to me, something I can't even point out myself. Never helps that the renowned psychiatrist is your celebrity brother." He made a lame attempt humour and shrugged. 

"See you tonight." I insisted, clapping his shoulder lightly. 

"We shall see, Frasier." 

My mind wandered on to tonight. Maybe it will be boring; maybe Niles and Daphne will pretend nothing has happened and allow the night to go on with a degree of farce, forced smiles and handshakes. Or maybe something interesting will develop out of it. 

Our routes diverged the moment we stepped outside Nervosa, my mind sobered with darker thoughts. 


	4. Culmination Part 4

Culmination   
Part IV 

by Aenigmatic (vesania@gmx.net) 

**Author's Note: **

_I have nothing to do with Grub Street productions nor the sitcom 'Frasier'. I have no money either should anyone decide to sue. I'm sorry for taking such a long time! I have hoped that I would eventually get around to this part! _

You may just find a few heartless twists of dialogues/plots used in actual episodes again. Certain obtuse references to various literature texts and may the authors, bless them, kindly forgive me. Changes in perspectives are reflected by ***. 

********** 

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT…   
AT THE POLICE STATION 

Eddie and I stared at each other. I, forlornly, while he, the eternal joy of Mr Crane's heart appeared to whimper in sympathy yet not concealing his happiness at the change of environment. The pooch was unusually cheerful tonight, mocking our unhappiness with wags of his tail and energetic pouncing. I wondered why Mr Crane actually bothered to bring his dog over, when we were in a situation like this, a dire one, I might add, considering Frasier and Roz were now in handcuffs and his brother looking as though…well, suffice to say that his brother has seen better days, putting it kindly. Yes, his brother. I can't call him by his name yet; it is too close to my heart to bear. Him, Donny, Him again and now this. 

The sitting room of the police station is glaringly white –or was it the 3 cans of beer that made it so? I must say I spent my time alternating between panic attacks and calm moments of rationality. The panic attacks are no fun at all after envisioning: 

1. My mother and brothers picking me up from Manchester Airport, cackling about a certain Auntie Rosie who was deported back to England because she was found guilty of a financial conspiracy against Bill Gates. The gossip in Manchester will soon make me a refugee, in which I will have no choice but to seek refuge in another place that will offer me asylum. 

2. Donny being mortified that his bride-to-be is a criminal. (To hell with being a spinster for life after he breaks up with me, by the way) 

3. My life in America coming to an end in the most nightmarish way –tears of the wrong sort to accompany me back to England. 

4. Losing _him _. 

My calm moments of rational thoughts reassured me that I still had my wits around. _Hold your chin up high and stand proud, my girl _, my father had commanded the day I came to him sobbing because a witless boy had stolen my crayons and eraser. With that in mind, I straightened my back, cleared off excessive emotion and paid close attention to what Dr Crane and Roz were saying to the police officer. To my chagrin, they seemed on the losing side from the snippets that I caught. 

"…no intention of harming that poor woman, officer!" 

"…only going to play it once! Nobody in the world would have expected that!" 

"…look….sure ain't enough AT ALL to account for your explanations. You both are going to have to come up with something better than that. You sir, are charged with the mishandling of a large object and you Madam, are equally responsible for it. Not least of all, rotten misbehaviour, if you don't mind my adding." 

"But..." 

The officer strode away and both of them followed him on fairy feet, light, skittish and frisky, arguing even more. 

"No Buts, both of you. I have already taken care of Ms Moon and Dr Niles Crane. You two, however, are a completely different matter. I am sorry, Dr Crane, Ms Doyle, you will be released in the next couple of days after your attorneys settled things for you." 

Our reactions were somewhat interesting to observe. Dr Crane stared open-mouthed, Roz just paced the length of the floor, shaking her head and mumbling how a few days will definitely hamper her love life or lack thereof, Mr Crane shook his head and exchanged tickly looks with Eddie, Niles, well, he carried a similar expression to mine –resignation, apprehension and a fear that he was going to spend the night with me in the holding room of the police station. 

********* 

AM I HYPERVENTILATING YET?   
OH, YES I AM. 

IT WAS A NIGHT IN HELL. I would consider pinching myself to see if I was living a nightmare should my skin be slightly less _ allergy-prone _. But my perverse thoughts were interrupted by an angry younger brother wearing out the cement floor and an equally mad Mancunian physical therapist giving the impression of spitting nails. 

"Niles, will you be willing to take a few days off after you …er… your…one-night jail term to come and see how Roz and I are doing?" I asked timidly after the police officer left us alone. Niles could only glare at me and if he had his full wits about him, I was certain that a sound round of swearing and cursing would have accompanied it. 

"I used to be indecisive, Frasier, but now I'm not sure." he retorted with absoluteness in his voice. Oh gee. 

"And look where it took me to! Oh hell, Frasier, if it weren't for your bloody competitive side or disease as I should call it, we wouldn't be in this mess right now!" Niles became a caricature in himself, gesturing wildly in a sudden panic attack. 

"Niles…Niles…" I figured it was alright for him to let it out for a bit, placating him in a situation that both of us tread on thin ice. 

"What will people think of me? A dusty psychiatrist with a criminal record?! Who can't manage his own problems?! O god, the things I will soon have to live without…" He ticked off his fingers dramatically, "I won't be able to afford the Montana any longer, which means a cheap apartment downtown…public transport and queues at the ticket booths…ooooh Frasier, this is really too much to take!" 

My brother was taking in more and more rapid breaths as he spiralled downwards in a panic attack while I watched with detached amusement. I promised myself I would stop him only the moment he begins to hyperventilate. 

"No more luxury cars which means another nightmarish red-hatchback…" 

Niles, Niles. Hasn't anyone told you that you really go overboard at times? I was caught up in my thoughts for a while as another part of my mind vaguely registered the words my brother was rapidly spitting out like a machine gun. 

"…Coffee at Café Nervosa will be restricted to plain black coffee…or many I'll be forced to return to plain street coffee, the kind that Dad thinks America should drink…" 

I started shaking my head in exasperation. He _was _ getting ridiculous. 

"…indian cotton sheets will have to be replaced by cheap linen…" 

"WILL YOU STOP THAT NILES?!" 

"…sell my antiques to a dealer who gives me possibly enough to eat only for a month…" He looked up in mid-speech in surprise at my shout which might have sounded more than a tad bit desperate. Of course, who could help it, given that we have never been arrested before? Surprisingly, he calmed down and threw me an assessing gaze. 

"Don't these bother you as well?" He asked archly. 

I whooshed out my breath in a loud sigh. That was really calculated, Niles. 

"No!" another arched look and a raised eyebrow. "No…I mean yes…yes, they of course bother me but we are at ground zero Niles! Saving your reputation and thinking of alternative lifestyles to lead just do not work when you are still having the radiation fallout!" 

"Frasier! Surely you know better when _not _ to use bad atomic analogies…" He demanded petulantly. 

"I did it so that you were able to damned well see the point!" 

"Didn't your elite school teach you how to think and speak _in context _, or perhaps radio deejaying has made you forgotten?" 

Now we were bickering like irrational, red-kneed schoolboys. After a few more lines on speaking out of context and bad metaphors, Niles stopped and seemingly returned to the rational side of him. 

I met his accusations with a poker face, a silent but stylish reproach, which worked, incidentally. He apologised in a heartbeat. 

"Oh, alright," He paused. "I'm sorry, Frasier. It's been a tough night. You've still got another round of interrogation to go. I'll see you in the morning. Not as though I can go very far anyway." He sneered, sighed and walked out, accompanied by another pesky officer. 

I rubbed my temples and sighed wearily. Outside I still heard the din that the 18 th floor neighbours were making. The hysterical old woman who shrieked not unlike Daphne's mother, her loony daughter who behaves worse but not unlike Daphne and her husband who behaves like Dad. I peeked out and saw the officer who dealt with them scratch his ear and heave another great sigh. 

It was a night of sighs. 

********** 

AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE 

Frasier looked at me worriedly, his face an array of wrinkles. His frown deepened as the officer slammed down his notebook onto the table with a loud 'THWACK'. But hey, I wouldn't be called Roz if I did not marvel at his good looks even when I'm caught in spotlight. Green eyes, sharp nose, wavy hair, a good muscular body beneath those uniform…I made a mental note to fit him snugly into Roz's world. Only then would I indulge myself in ripping his clothes apart. Ooh, the wonders one finds if one cares to really look and take advantage of any circumstance. 

"So," he started, but was cut off by Frasier. 

"Sir, we need to stress to you, that whatever we did was a total accident! We never intended this to happen!" 

"Oh Frasier, shut up." I snapped with a small twinge of irritation. Didn't that man know when to keep his big bazoo shut? 

"From what I have here, this lady, Mrs Beatrice White, said that you sir, had attempted to sit on her dog, and in doing so had hit her in the face with your stick." God, I wanted to laugh at how stupid that sounded. But hey, then again, the eminent psychiatrist was fully capable of achieving large amounts of self-induced stress. 

"That's-." Frasier started to protest. 

"It doesn't end there." The officer ignored Frasier and turned to me. Whoa mama… "And you, Miss Doyle-." 

"It's Roz." I cut in and plastered on the best seductive smile I could muster, despite the tornado-blown clothes I was sure hung nearly off me. 

"Oh for heaven's sake Roz! Would you cut that out? We're sitting here close enough to get ourselves a ruined reputation!" Frasier howled in my ear. I sighed and swallowed back a death glare. 

"Oh all right…"I grumbled. 

_***Earlier that Evening _

"You're in a bar, Frasier." I repeated for the third time. He gazed up at me from his stool. 

"Ah Roz," he started as he swirled around in his seat. "It never hurts to come out of one's shell once in a while you know." 

"BUT YOU'RE IN A BAR!" Frasier scowled, a very becoming expression on him. 

"Is that an offence?" He shot back testily. I threw my hands up in surrender. 

"Okay," I started as I slid into the seat next to him. "I'm listening." Whoa, did I actually say that? 

"And she left me." The last sentence ended in a whisper. I traced the rim of my glass as Frasier drained down the rest of his drink. That poor man got dumped by his French girlfriend of 3 days, because she was seeing another. 

"She was one in a million you know...and I can't even hold it for 3 pathetic days! Not like you don't know –her call on air must have been the most humiliating call I've had in years." He slurred out and I shrunk back in distaste, realising that he was more than halfway to a hangover. 

"Oh Frasier, the sea is wide and deep. Try casting your net deeper the next time round." That was the only comfort I could give. Heck, I don't think it was a comfort at all. Frasier choose to ignore my undertone hint of boredom. I mean seriously now, he HAD to go out with a French woman? That woman who had hairy armpits and thought they were part of her body's way of saying that she was incredibly and undeniably sexy? As Daphne would snort immediately, "Yes, she's sexy, my fanny." 

"And what about you?" Frasier asked. 

"Hey, the feeling's mutual. I got dumped too." I said glumly. 

"That Greek stud?" He asked incredulously. "Well, you did…you did look happy together!" 

I shrugged and opened my mouth again – 

"Although Stephanides is a…very interesting name." 

I glared at him. 

"Yeah, a long name, just as long as his chest hair." Frasier raised his glass mockingly in a toast. 

I glared harder, until I felt my mouth twisting upwards at his next words. 

"To Roz's and Frasier's world." 

"Hear, Hear". I raised my glass in total agreement and knocked back the whisky and revelled in the burning sensation that tore at my throat. 

_***Even later that evening _

We crashed head-on into the living room. 

"ANNNNNNND……TOOOOOOUCHDOOOOOOOWWWWNNNN!!!!!!" Frasier bellowed as he, or rather we made our grand entrance. 

"What the hell happened? I thought you were planning a dinner for all of us. As my poor memory serves me, Niles was supposed to pick 2 sober bodies up from the radio station." Martin cried as he shuffled quickly towards the both of us who were on the floor laughing and gasping for air. Niles came up behind and looked soberly at Martin. 

"I found them like that outside Jerry's." Niles breathed heavily as he tried to heave his still laughing brother up from the floor. 

"You were in a bar?!" Martin shrieked and I laughed uproariously, struggling to get onto my feet. 

"Oh, why does everyone keep saying that?!" Frasier asked as he pushed Niles away and crawled to Martin's beloved chair. He grabbed the beer hungrily and shoved his hand high up into the air. 

"Danielle dumped me! Would you believe," Frasier wobbled about looking like a fat scarecrow, "she actually called in and broke up with me on the air?" I fell to the floor in a fresh spate of laughter, wanting to stick my fingers into my nose and waggle them at the turn of events that made us so suddenly loose. 

"Okay Fras, you're drunk. Forget the dinner. I will call Mel and distract her away, Daphne will do likewise for Donny…stop that howling, Frasier, you need to go get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." Niles, I duly noted, attempted nobly to salvage the shards of our dignity. 

Frasier snorted and pushed away the hands that reached down to help him up. Instead he crawled to me and threw himself down onto the ground, his glassy eyes stared admiringly at the ceiling. 

"Frasier, you're drunk, you're disoriented, you stink, you're in a very fragile emotional state at the moment and you've just been dumped. Please go and get some rest!" Niles implored as he tugged Frasier's arm. 

"Oh Niles, shut up." I quipped from below. "Let him be himself for once!" 

"She said she never wanted to see me again!" Frasier droned to no one in particular. Then he gave a childish squeak. "So the next time I get to dump someone, I would say, 'I Never Want To See You Again!'" He started to laugh to himself. 

"All right, that's enough, both of you." Martin sighed at the pathetic state of his son on 

the floor. 

"Get up Frasier, you're going to bed." By any miracle, we managed to heave ourselves up and as Frasier slowly made his way to his room, I dimly recollected telling myself a tummy trim was long overdue considering it took 2 Cranes to lift me. I sat still, sprawled out on the very expensive floor and tried to tame my wild hair. Niles came back a moment later, rubbing his hands almost fervently on his white handkerchief. For the love of my hair, I could never understand that man! 

"It wasn't so bad was it?" I drawled as I somehow managed to stand up and make my way to the sofa. 

"Wasn't so bad? I shudder to think of the potential infections we may contract from the half-digested food that was returned to the breathing world courtesy of you both." He replied wryly and I never more wanted a lunge at his small neck. But Niles was gaining steam, riding on the sudden shift to the second gear. 

"And you encouraged him by belting out how sexy his breath smelt when he drank beer, and it doesn't end there. I had to drag the both of you into the lift, with Frasier winking at every single woman that passed by, and he tried to kiss me! And then I had to shove the both of you into this house, and I had to drag that silly bumboat into his room and you tell me that all isn't so bad?!" 

I was afraid Niles would hyperventilate. Or had he started without me? Oh, whatever. 

"Yeah, yeah Niles. Points taken very well indeed." I slumped down deeper into the sofa and gave a small, resounding burp. Man, I feel like a woman! I shook my fist at him, watching his fingers dial Mel's number as he hurriedly told her not to come over and I realised he must have told Daphne to get rid of Donny too. 

"Frasier! Come back here!" The frustrated voice of Martin rang in the hallway as I saw my best friend trotted in a zigzagged path out of his room and towards me. And lo and behold! He was carrying his beloved double bass trailed by a very angry and exhausted Martin. 

"Oh Niles! Dad! Roooz!! I did promise that I would play for you some tunes…" Frasier trailed off as he dragged a chair and plopped himself down on it. 

"Helooo Eddie," Frasier murmured. "And I am going to sing a song for my darling little friend here, Eddie." 

Oh no. 

" _It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart _…" Frasier crooned to the little life-form at his feet. It was horrifyingly comical. Frasier? Singing a _Pop _ song? How did Frasier get acquainted with the outside world? 

Niles hyperventilated. Eddie scampered wildly into Martin's chair and hid his face. 

"Fras…" Martin started. 

"Ooooh! I know I know! Let's all sing a song. I will play, you will sing." Frasier interrupted, his face a very mirror of childish glee. 

He looked as though he would start off his song majestically. He didn't. 

"AANNNNNNNNNND….YANKEE DOODLE WENT TO TOWN, RIDING ON A PONY, HE STUCK A FEATHER IN HIS HAT AND CALLED IT-." 

"You pepperoni pimp! Shut up!" Unfamiliar, livid voices from below us roared out rudely, and we promptly felt the floor thud a little as the neighbours below us hit their ceiling with…something. 

"Oh Roz! They want to play and sing too!" Frasier called out excitedly. He grabbed my hands and yanked me up from my seat. He then started to jump up and down. I rolled my eyes and followed him. 

Hey, that actually felt kinda fun! I giggled stupidly and jumped around with Frasier, banging out feet as loudly as we could on the floor. 

"Take that you bozos!" I yelled as I continued my series of jumps. Besides, I have heard that jumping increases your height. It gives you a nicer waist. Hmm, not bad at all! I jumped some more. 

"Roz Roz!! I know! Here, give me your other hand. _You've lost that lovin' feeling, whoa, that lovin' feeling _…" Frasier and I spun around in circles and sang at the top of our voices, while the other two family members stared at us, appalled. Daphne came out of her room that very moment after her phone call to Donny, her face dark and filled with much curiosity. 

"Can't you all bloody well learn to resolve your disputes without reverting to childhood once more?" She demanded as she padded across the floor to us. "I have a very important thing to do tomorrow and I can't bloody sleep!" She padded off, muttering curses and poetic cast-aways by British writers that I only vaguely remembered, as long as they had last names that _sounded _ handsome. 

Frasier spun me away and I collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter. 

"Oh, my love, my daaaaarllllliiiiinngg…" Frasier chose to serenade the double bass, sweeping it off the ground and into his arms, cradling it like some lost child he had finally found. 

"Ye gods! Dr Crane! Are you drunk?" Daphne started, alarmed. 

"No duh." Martin muttered. 

"I am not drunk!" Frasier had suddenly stopped his serenade. He stood up to his full height and looked at all of us. "No one or anything can stop me from I am now! The only way to get through life is to face it! I will not let my emotions weigh me down; I will not give in to my misery, and I will not…go gentle into that good night!" Niles opened his mouth to retort something back, but was silenced by the deafening knock on the door 

It was none other than Mrs Beatrice White. She stood there, her face so pink, plump and so fat that she looked as though she had no eyes. I scrutinized her, squinted and counted four double chins. So there she was, the wrinkled angry prune who brought along her dog. A Jack Russell, just like Eddie. What was that dog's name again? Oh yes, Pinkie, which saw absolutely no reason to be PINK unless it was under the ears, or so Frasier had told me. 

"Ah! Mrs White!" Martin greeted her at the door. 

"You people have given me nothing but trouble. What's all this shouting and singing and banging?" She demanded as she barged into the living room, marched up to Frasier and glared darkly at him. "You were the one who caused all this trouble weren't you?" she snarled. Frasier gave a goofy smile. 

"Mrs Beet-rice" he began. 

"It's Beatrice you twit! Beatrice!" Came the shriek that caused Niles to run for his allergy pills. 

"Frasier's a little drunk Mrs White…" Niles attempted to so save his brother after the eventful popping of 2 whitish buttons into his mouth. 

"Oh don't you Mrs White me young man, I know what all of you are doing. You're taking advantage of me." 

"Mrs White, my greatest apologies, it will not happen again." Martin said and was preparing to usher her out of the room. 

"I am not done yet!" She snapped and opened her mouth to say more when Frasier yanked the collar of Pinkie away. 

"Oh look dad! She's got Eddie!" he cried. Smiling, Frasier picked up Pinkie and dumped the little dog unceremoniously onto his sofa. 

"What are you doing?!" Mrs White started shrieking again. "I'll have you know-." 

"Oh, cork it, fatso!" I barked. I couldn't help it. I was drunk, she talked too much, and she really was fat. Frasier started giggling. Martin and Niles, well, I couldn't really understand what their arrangement of their faces were trying to tell me. 

"Hur hur hur…" 

"You give me back my dog this instant Mr Crane! Or else-." She was cut off by Frasier's big bazoo. Why did I feel that something bad was going to happen? 

"Mrs B-E-E-EEEEE-T-R-I-C-E…" Frasier started, his smile so big that nearly half his face vanished in it. He walked unsteadily to the sofa. "Why can't we all just learn to get along with each other?" As he said that, he flung his arms wide open and sat down. On Pinkie, so it seemed, conveniently forgetting that he was still holding his double bass bow in his hand. It gave a satisfying 'SMACK' onto Mrs White's prune like face. 

So many things happened at once –I laughed hysterically. 

Pinkie squeaked in agony and scampered away. Mrs White's nose was bleeding which I presumed, was broken. 

Niles hyperventilated. Oh, under the stars of heaven, nothing ceases to amaze me. 

Martin rushed to Mrs White's aid. 

Daphne gave a cry of distress and went to collect paper towels for the bleeding nose. 

Eddie went to comfort Pinkie. 

"911? There is an emergency here…" I heard a voice saying as I swayed shakily under the effects of the alcohol. 

And so goes the tale of the downfall of Frasier, the great Freudian radio star. 

_***Meanwhile _

"And then her son, Douglas came up to see the commotion. And I kinda threw myself on him…"I trailed off. 

"Why did you do that?" 

"Um, well…because I was drunk and he was really um, cute. Oh alright, he was my ex!" I sighed. Frasier decided to continue – 

"She called the cops, and the next thing we knew, we were handcuffed and-." Frasier motioned with his hands the place and state we had arrived to. The officer sighed as he scribbled something down onto his notebook, which I observed as the very last page of his book. 

"Well, Interesting narrative we've got there. …and I should think that there is a good chance for the both of you to be released, together with the rest, but with some minor charges. Wait here if you please." He said, and exited the room. 

Frasier slammed his head down onto the table beside mine and groaned. What else could I do? I imitated that action, he glared at me and I smilingly glared back. Where was my knight in shining armour when I needed one? 

********** 

I SHALL CONQUER THIS, I SHALL! 

I gave a short account of what happened a few hours ago and seeing that Dr Crane's (Niles') account was faithful to what I said, the hold on us was relaxed somewhat and the officer decided we could use the holding room instead of the jail cell, a decision which I am still wondering whether to be grateful for or not. Dr Crane promised us that we would be released, but not until the night was over. Mr Crane still negotiated in a backhanded fashion for an early release. It was Roz's and Dr Crane's turn to be interrogated; Niles and I sat in silence in that room, locked inside. 

I promised myself that nothing was ever going to happen tonight –never enjoyed run-ins with the police anyway, not after the time when they mistook me as the woman a few nuts short of a fruitcake begging to get onto the Mothership with Xena. 

I eyed him warily. He only looked back with weariness and shook his head for the umpteenth time. So I turned my glum thoughts instead onto Dr Crane and Roz, who will probably wake up in the morning feeling as though the bench lay on them and not the other way around, while wondering if Niles' and my situation was really any better. 

"Who would have thought that …um…this would happen?" Lame, but beats the uncomfortable silence. 

"Uh huh. Dammit Daphne, I don't want to talk about Roz and Frasier at the moment." He stated blandly, eyes shifting. "It's high time we discussed us." 

"There's nothing to discuss. I told you I love you, but I also love Donny. So there." I pursed my lips, hoping that this action signalled all that I wanted to say on this volatile topic. But I knew, I just knew, he wouldn't let it go. 

"Daphne," He groaned and suddenly his blue eyes were looking into mine and I shied away, averting my gaze self-consciously, shuddering from that intangible contact. 

Perhaps anger and accusations was the better way of masking the turmoil I felt right now. 

"What did you expect me to do, Dr Crane, wait around for 2 years before you made up your mind I am someone decidedly not beneath you? Don't you do this to me, Niles, not now! Don't you mess up my life, that life which I've painfully reconstructed after you left, 2 weeks before my wedding. You reconstructed yours, you have Mel and everything else, and don't you stop me from doing the same for myself. And don't you mess Donny's life too." 

He paced the length of the floor, breathing hard, gesturing with shaking hands and I watched him curiously, sizing him up greedily, looking at all the quirks of this man that fascinated me to no end. He seemed to be carrying on a conversation _within _ himself and out of this tumult of the mind came a monosyllabic word. 

"No…" But I steadfastly refused him the right of another word. 

"Niles, don't you see this is hurting me too? This is hurting so much that we don't so anything, it'll hurt Donny and Mel, who have done nothing but give their affections to us, to deserve this!" 

He shook his head in denial, not accepting even thinly what I've just said. And he would have rebutted should I not have put a finger to his lips. They were dry, cold. 

"I love you Niles, you were the only one I wanted, but I really wonder if that's really enough for us…2 years, enough to change everything I said and everything that I have previously felt." I said in a small voice and turned my back to him so he wouldn't see the tears of betrayal I felt at my own words. "Please I'm tired. Let me rest for a bit." 

I felt, rather than saw him acquiesce as his shoulders slumped and he nodded his head in a gentlemanly fashion. 

********** 

UNUSUAL PLACES ARE SOMETIMES THE BEST   
COUNTERPOINT II 

I never dreamed that I would declare my love to her in the holding room, for Pete's sake. We might as well be in a jail cell –given the circumstances, I doubt it'd be very different anyway, given the dull colours of the paint on the walls, the claustrophobic lack of windows, a lone table in the middle (which of course, could easily be replaced by a bunker and bingo! Jail cell and inmate incarnate!) Here she was, scarcely 4 days from her wedding, sitting huddled on the lowest bunk, crying slightly after sipping a hot cup of coffee some officer was kind enough to bring over –since she could never run away or shut her ears from what she didn't particularly want to hear, I suppose. I sat still, bitterly contrasting the calm exterior to the rage of emotions that coiled so deeply inside I was afraid to face myself, afraid to uncoil and see the strings as they are untangled. 

We still have the mess to straighten out, with Donny, with Mel (O dear god!) but at the moment nothing really matters because she is beside me, and in my dazed haze, she has become my ultimate reality. In my tiredness, I still felt charged and sparked with life, infused with a feeling that I would come out with the sun a changed man. Something was going to happen very soon, I just knew it. To Daphne, of course, there was no mess. We were meant to follow the paths that we chose for ourselves – she as Mrs Donny Douglas, and Mel becoming my wife. But I couldn't –wouldn't, for the life of me, and on a fool's honour, let this come so close as I did before and let it slip away again. I rubbed my neck in a circular motion and bent my head as a single-minded thought ran through my mind, telling me it was the gesture of defeat, of loss irrecoverable. But I knew that should this fail, the loss would be even more devastating, because I have unconsciously depended on success. 

Sometimes I wonder if the amount of time we've had to our own thoughts has been more than enough. Time that I've spent mulling over sentiments, lost love, lost time and fantastical 'what-ifs', never getting to the stage where these reflections translate into actions, until, well, until tonight. My mind played nasty tricks on me as tunes from Sibelius' violin concertos and Chopin's Funeral March meshed into a strange cacophony of noises I couldn't seem to shake off. Tonight, in which the incredible events and their toll on both Daphne and I can't possibly be any worse than Faust awaiting his damnation. 

_What did you expect me to do, Dr Crane, wait around for 2 years before you made up your mind I am someone decidedly not beneath you? – Donny loves me and he has never compromised that love by only spending a night and later fleeing as if the devils of hell were loose on him… _

_I love you Niles, you were the only one I wanted, but I really wonder if that's really enough for us…2 years, enough to change everything I said and everything that I have previously felt… _

The pounding in my head could not get any worse than this. 

_Don't you do this to me, Niles, not now! Don't you mess up my life, that life which I've painfully reconstructed after you left, 2 weeks before my wedding. You reconstructed yours, you have Mel and everything else, and don't you stop me from doing the same for myself. And don't you mess Donny's life too. _

I think I deflated visibly at the mention of Donny. She has also visibly steeled herself against the mention of Mel. The mess can't get any bigger. 

We had so much to blame each other for –myself for simply leaving, for not picking up the threads when I returned, she for repressing all the memories and trying to force them onto Donny in the attempt to start over, for not giving us a chance again at the balcony, for bearing the guilt of having to face me again after the engagement… 

–No, I reminded myself harshly, we can't possibly spend the whole time regretting what we did not do. 

But I don't have you, Daphne. 

I snorted bitterly, willing myself to shed a few tears to release the tension and the inexplicable pain that stabbed at my chest at those words she flung at me. However, nothing but a constricted sob escaped my lips as I pondered Daphne more seriously. Daphne, how do I convince you that the 2 years away and Mel was a big mistake that cost me more than what I've expected? 

Daphne's eyes flickered open and I groaned inwardly. I shook off the last traces of lingering slumber while I paced the room, waiting patiently for her to regain her faculties. The wee hours of the morning and in that last stretch, I felt something more than just apprehension and excitement course through my nerves. I felt like a player about to make the final hoop into the basket before the last second closed the game, or an opera singer about to make his debut, or perhaps most simply, the least grandiose and closest to my heart, a man, a desperate man about to try any measure to win his love back be it through anything. 

Mephistopheles, do your worst. 

********** 

REALISATIONS COUNTERPOINT: DAPHNE 

_There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;  
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee   
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,   
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.   
– All for Love , _Lord Byron 

Niles, Niles, Niles. What do we do now, after all the crazy merry-go-round, that prancing and dancing at each other's feet for that incredible period of 7 years? I surprised myself by asking the same question I did when he first came back and I thought I found the resolute answers to them by choosing to marry Donny. Until now, the words he yelled while holding my wrist in an iron grip hurt my head. I turned and cocked my head sideways, as if the blow was a visible one. 

Can't you see Daphne? We're not happy at all! Would you rather have 2 innocent people caught up in a mess that we started? Would you want us to shuffle our feet and mumble greetings to each other 2 decades later as you hold onto Donny's arm and I, on Mel's? I love you Daphne –I believe that I've said that many times 

No, Niles, don't do this. 

Don't you think it's better to let them go, and let it hurt now, rather than 4 of us living a web of lies later? We'd only convince ourselves that we do indeed love the people we have chosen but in time, that lie will seep through –and none of us will be happy at all! We can never choose where we will love Daphne, why, are you ashamed of us? 

But I find that I am just as unable to answer them and that realisation gave me more than a tingle and a shudder. I wonder if our argument last night tore more heartstrings than usual. We accused each other of infidelity, of the inability to bear heavy commitments to each other and to our engaged other halves, of not loving each other enough to see the previous 2 years through. For all that time spending blaming each other, we never admitted to ourselves, let alone to each other, that, we might have made things work out. We never took the time to talk about each other's needs and emotions, to sit down and seriously talk about polishing our already dysfunctional relationship. 

A subtle movement to the left caught my eye. He moved slightly, wincing as he stretched his tired muscles and got up to pace. We were still alone in the holding room. Glancing at my watch, I realised that I had been asleep in this nightmare for only a mere 2 hours, the pain that twists my heart surely twists his too. Dear god, I realised dully, that we had to go through this before the dawn. And the start of the day would have us both decide what would really happen, a judgement of another sort. 

"So…" He tentatively started. 

"So…" I echoed awkwardly, finding a distraction in primping my hair and rubbing my face down, taking the tiredness off my face. 

"Daphne," he began and turned around, and I suddenly saw all that I needed to see in his blue eyes. The love that ran deeper than both of us dared to admit, the fear of not being able to find that passionate equivalent that made us hold on to Donny and Mel so tightly, the fear that we might never find the same thing that existed for us 2 years ago. He raked a hand roughly through his hair, not caring that it poked out of all the wrong places, and tried again. 

"We never believed, Daphne. Either that, or we believed in the wrong things, placed our assurances in hopes that are too meagre and far too pale to satisfy." He said those words carefully and gently, his corn blue eyes averted, sad. There wasn't reproach in his voice, just a queer mute quality to it, and I envisioned that it could be the trauma of just everything since he set foot down again in Seattle. 

And I have to admit that hurt. It hurt to hear such words coming from someone whom you love till your heart breaks; it hurt to know that I was the cause of so much pain to someone who is a best friend, that I had been so oblivious to his devious attempts to woo me even then. Most of all, it hurt because I have discovered so late a potential happiness that could have been ours for a lot more time. I wanted every waking moment with him. 

But don't we all gain realisations only when things pass? 

"Daphne." He sighed heavily, holding my hand, staring at it with that same unchanged expression. "We love each other, no," He amended, "We need each other too, I see that in your eyes. But what excites me and makes me hope for more, is this something else I see –what 2 years have failed to diminished, and that is the realisation that both of us have come too far to say goodbye." He daringly finished. 

But somehow, I…I…couldn't let go of so many things that have weighed on _my _ shoulders for so long. I felt the rush of energy strongly, wanting to unload the baggage of blame, regret and the enormity of tragedy, which I never believed redeemable, until…until now. 

"Niles, do not discredit me, I beg of you, of having any lesser conflicting emotions than you!" I felt powerless to resist the raising of my voice, so I took a deep breath and tried again. "Have you no idea, the times I wondered if I committed any large enough crime that made you leave, and then the one day when I made a resolution that I would finally move on? Had you an idea of the amount of self-castigating that took place in those 2 years, you…you would have…" I couldn't continue. Somewhere in my tirade I had unwittingly begun to cry and heave unsteadily. 

I saw a flash of anger that passed through his eyes and when he shut and reopened them, they were replaced by remorse, pain and a long-suffering look that I knew only too well. We were both treading on hot tin roofs, I thought wryly, as we both faced each other off awkwardly. But his tenacity grew in my esteem and I marvelled at this enigma of a man who was able to exhibit a shallow, pompous and allergic side and yet display with flair, a depth of emotion that I'm only beginning to understand. 

"Maybe…" he said, troubled, "maybe what's lacking now, is forgiveness. But one thing that I know, Daphne, and I'll say this as I have never said before, please forgive me for all that has been less than sterling towards you but you will have to do the same after we dredge through the unhappy tears and jerks. Only then," he paused, and looked me square in the face, a broken man and I, a broken woman reflected back in his eyes, "can we be worthy of each other once more." 

It was highly carthartic when my next flow of tears came and this time he didn't hesitate, pulling me into his arms, and I rejoiced as our pretences finally broke apart in his tight embrace. 

"Will you at least give me that, Daphne? The chance to try it all again, to not start on the same footing 2 years ago, but a real chance to make this work?" He mumbled into my hair. 

I honestly couldn't think of anything better than the affirmative as my answer as I kissed him lightly. The throat was dry and hoarse, from all the crying I didn't realise took place and I choked on myself as I tried to speak again. The long 7 years; we can't keep looking back at them regretfully if not, we both will ever be able to take off. 

I told him I loved him, just over a week ago over at Dr Crane's house. But did I really mean it? I liked to think that I have. But seeing the extent of his believe in love, maybe, just maybe, I didn't know love's fullness until now. Not 2 years ago, not 2 weeks ago. Only now. 

But he did, even though he didn't seem to think so himself. But privately I think he never stopped believing all those years, not even when he told me the bittersweet tale of _Turandot _. It was enough to make me dizzy with regret, shame and headiness! I came to the conclusion that we were never good when we were apart –our separation must not be talked about again –it is…sheer impractical! Thinking to myself that we must agree to be the hapiest couple of all time, I stifled a laugh at my own sudden lack of realism and practicality. 

He looked at me strangely and I wondered if he noticed all of the emotions that passed across my face and if he interpreted them correctly. He pulled back away from me thoughtfully, handing me his pristinely folded handkerchief. 

"I…you…ah…what do we…" The thoughts in my head did not allow me to speak coherently but Niles shook his head (even though we still had all the time in the world in this police station, technically speaking and I seriously doubted that anything else bizarre would happen) for me to complete some explanation. 

"Daphne," He began haltingly, "this is going to be difficult, but I am going to request something – that we take time off to sort things out; with Donny, with Mel." He gestured lightly in the air. 

"And not see each other?" I took a breath shakily, not knowing if I could do this again. 

He nodded and I looked down. What could I say? So many things that I wanted to scream out –the unfairness of it all, fate letting us have a crystal clear moment to sort things out only to separate us for that time we owe Donny and Mel. But if it only made us happy in the long run –Niles hummed a tune and I watched him absently, smiling the exact moment I recognised it as Vissi d'Arte. I walked straight into his arms once more, closing my eyes, wanting to stay that way, reliving the first time we were together. 

"Daphne," He lifted my eyes to meet his azure gaze. "I want you to know that I am yours, for always." 

I was so moved, finding it in myself to repeat the same words he had just said, for all you know, that was as near as a wedding vow as it got. So we talked, of things nonsensical as well of better and of slighter greater importance, and after the climatic conversation, neither of us had the courage to venture back there again. Both of us did not get very much sleep that night. I honestly can't remember a time where the walk out of prison was any sweeter than a man released on parole. But, for us, we were acquainted with light only because we were first plunged into the most painful of darkness. 

********** 

**MY COFFEE WITH NILES **

I stared into my coffee cup, gave a sigh of irritation, lifted it up, high above my eyes and examined the base of it. Where was he? We had mutually decided not to see each other until the mess with Donny and Mel was sorted out but what a very painful 3 months this was turning out to be! Even though this was a willing separation, it grated harder than I thought. Mel gave more trouble to Niles than Donny did me in any case; at least that was how Dr Crane had waxed lyrical about it. 

3 months –starting over again for us and I felt like a schoolgirl again, fidgety and heart-rendingly anxious for the 'first date'. In a way it was a first for us again and I'm finally openly seeing him sans the baggage that we've carried for so long. Letting the 2-and-a-half-year-old saga toss around in my head for a while, I started to question the resiliency of us –it is without a doubt that I cannot take anymore pain whose piercing went beyond physical stabbings in the chest each time I, in a silly manner wondered if the love we proclaimed was merely unrequited. But it is also without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to take it anymore than I could; I always thought he was this certain fragile gentleman, whose notions of love, idealism prepossessed him to the point of madness. Looking up, I sat with a dreamy look that I knew showed on my face, until I saw him. 

Actually I saw the large bunch of roses first, so big that they obscured the bottom half of his face and when he pushed them towards me bashfully I saw the grin of a fool in love. And then I knew without a doubt we were already each other's when he saw the same grin mirrored on mine. 

"Hi." Indeed, the shy earmarks of the first date all over again. 

"Oh come here, you silly sausage! My challenge tonight is as open as it can ever get." I giggled in a bluster and so I knew it was going to be alright, very emotional, but god almighty above, finally, finally, alright. "The same that we started years ago," I added softly, gazing mistily in the distance. 

"So are you willing to take that challenge?" Niles was cute, trying to be witty, not realising his natural wit shone brighter than this contrived one. 

"The story you told me 2 and a half years ago. I have learnt it since then. May I complete it?" I smilingly requested. 

He cocked his head slightly, an unspoken encouragement. 

_"Liu screams that she is the only one who carries the key to Turandot's wish –his name. Her endurance under the torture impresses Turandot, who then asks her the secret. 'Love, only love,' she cried. Knowing that she will weaken under further torture, Liu snatches a dagger from on of the soldiers and kills herself, for in the name of blind love she still wholeheartedly believed in the sacrifice for one who would never love her back. A sorrowful Timur holds her hand as the crowd carries her body away, moved by the simplicity and power of her love, leaving Turandot and Calaf by themselves. Calaf rebukes Turandot for her cruelty and at length, whips away her veil, forces her into his embrace and kisses her passionately, bringing forth Turandot's tears, the signature of knowing physical passion for the first time. Calaf, now sure of his victory, reveals his name, willingly putting himself in her power." _

_" 'I will not force you to marry me, Turandot. Your passions will decide them for you.' Calaf whispered quietly, stepping away while he watched the conflict of emotions crossing her face. _

_What will your decision be, O beautiful one? _

Later Turandot and Calaf stand before the Emperor. Calaf's kiss and Liu's sacrifice evoking a radiant wonder never known before, her simple answer told all there was to know. She said his name and his name is love." 

He stood with a hand on the table, scarcely daring to breathe, talk or to hope; all the emotions I now see clearly mirrored in myself, before I leaned towards him with all the confidence I could muster, took his face in my hands and kissed him the only way I knew how. 

"The name that Grammy Moon told me to find. I never dreamt that it would take hell and high water though –and oh yes, the name is love, Niles." 

********** 

ARE YOU HAPPY? 

It was the first 3 months of happily ever after, and may heaven help us all, I groaned inwardly, throwing a glace at Roz and felt relieved to see the exact sentiment mirrored back at me. 

I swung into my booth with a rhythm in my step once more, happy for the simplest reasons. Happy that my life is back to normal (I will try my damnedest never to scorn the complex concept of normalcy), happy that I am back to the safe boundary of pompous spectatorship, snooty fine dining and selling myself cheaply in radio psychiatry. Happy that I have mastered at least the piano and a bit of singing, happy that I have so far not allowed thoughts of 'what if…' to permeate my tortured mind. 

Venturing out of my comfort zone will not happen for at least a while longer. I tried, been there, done it wrongly, conquered not and am back again, with a large cup of coffee to soothe my nerves. 

"You know Frasier, I've never known the story of _Turandot _." Roz shrugged, as if admitting her limited knowledge of art was nothing to her. What am I saying? Of course it means nothing to her. Van Gogh and Puccini, they are all the same to her –since they yield only uppity noses like me. And the occasional, sensationalist story that Puccini operatised, of course. Of course I'm so glad that my brother finally got his act together. Daphne too. I look forward to watching their later...ahem, interactions (?) and not least, how Niles will finally turn around that skittish way he always had around her. At Roz's dubious stare I realised that I had a small smile on my face and let a good 5 minutes gone by. 

"Well look Roz if you'd like I would dearly love to explain it all…" Back to the subject at hand. 

Just then, my phone rang. 

"Yes Niles. Yes Niles. No Niles…" 

I saw Roz smile a bit. 

"…And NO, I will NOT vacate MY home tonight." But that could not conceal my happiness for tragedy made right. 

Roz gave a thumbs-up to no-one in particular. I think I heard her mutter 'didn't know that weasel had it in him'. 

"…will NOT bring your underwear to Elliot Bay Towers…" 

"Hey, Niles getting randy eh?" I waved her on impatiently. 

Roz rolled her eyes, threw up her hands and strode into her own booth. I imagined if she had eyes behind, they would have rolled non-stop. Their happiness and mush makes her cringe, so she says. But I believe that she is sincerely happy about the 'weenie' and his love. I barely had time to finish the irritating conversation with Niles before she signalled that I only had a meagre 10 seconds before the show started. But, I remember once, oh so long ago, when I had coffee with Niles, and he asked if I was happy. 

It was just another day. I will probably have the same proportion of insane and desperate callers to needy and intelligent ones, Bulldog will do his ritual head knocking, Roz will…oh never mind what she tries. I put my hands over my head, offered myself the luxury of a good stretch and a yawn for all it was worth –6 seconds I believe. 

"Welcome back to the Dr Frasier Crane show…" 

It was a normal day, but because something good had happened to Niles, I think…I think I should proclaim instead what a wonderful, nay, what a glorious day it was. 

_"Padre augusto,   
__conosco il nome dello straniero!   
__Il suo nome... è Amor!" _

Giacomo Pucinni, _Turandot_

********** 

THE END 

Thanks for all your kind comments!   
Feel free to write! vesania@gmx.net 


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